ShuMako Week 2k19
by BlixaLooksCarsick
Summary: Day One: First Times / Milestones; Day Two: Power Couple; Day Three: Distance; Day Four: Heal / Comfort ; Day Five: Nerves / Jealousy; Day Six: Date Night / Double Night; Day Seven: Family / Future Children
1. Chapter 1

Day One: Blushing Moon

Summer break was consistently a joyous time to be a student, even for those presently crossing the threshold between the farewell whisperings of adolescence and adulthood waiting ahead. Some would use this period to take care of studies and duties at their own pace; others would seek out their friends to make a merry time out of those forty days, and others still would find ways to deftly juggle with both alternatives. Although Makoto Niijima was of an intensely practical, diligent tendency, she long waited for summer break to arrive, and not just to get a head-start on her materials for the next period.

To begin with, Makoto took a little time to unwind from the pressure built over the semester. She indulged in a few luxuries, and caught up with neglected hobbies. Above all, she devoted time to her friends, most of whom she saw occasionally during her first year as a law student at Tokyo University. None of them became strangers during the first stages to the pursuit of her dream to become Police Commissioner, and she was greatly thankful for it. But there was someone she did not get to see nearly as often as she would have liked.

Most of the girls in her classes teased her about her long distance relationship. Some, in fact, thought him a conversational invention to keep unwanted flirting at bay. Those beliefs were dispelled one rainy evening when a few of her classmates walked in on an impromptu video call with the famous Akira Kurusu. There was a bit of sweet, and a bit of sour in the fact that many of those girls fell besotted with her boyfriend, and even more in the fact that she badly missed him.

That video call was a soothing balm, but also a prologue to disappointment. He would only get to visit Tokyo for one day before summer break started, and that was on a hasty chance he managed to steal from his schedule – translated into little time with Makoto alone. The rest of those first weeks would be spent catching up on a delayed semester, caused by an incident taken place at Mikata High. There were no injuries on students or faculty, but the place was in need of repairs. At the end of summer break, Akira would only have the last five days before studies resumed.

Makoto was unable to hide the disillusionment from her face when he told her about it on his brief visit. She wished she had, since that put a damper on the conversation. That was only the start of that evening going south, as the topics changed – Makoto blamed herself for it, despite her boyfriend's reassurance, which she thought was more for her sake than actual sincerity. She wished to make what little time they had worth it, but in the end, she was left with a feeling of wastefulness.

A kiss goodbye, and then back to Kawasaki with him. The anticipation for their next time together was a hopeful shine of the horizon, but the feeling never did go away. The thought of it kept her awake past her bedtime for several nights. Eventually, she made peace by making a silent promise to herself. She would make up for it. And she let him know the following day. This time, she would visit him – and those five days would, she would make them worth it.

But the waiting game was the hardest, as she anticipated. Still, Makoto Niijima came up with ways to handle as the day drew near.

[ ]

The local sights were not very different from the previous few times. After parking Sae's car, which she promised she would take good care of, Makoto checked her mental list to make sure everything was accounted for. The essentials for herself, a change of clothes, toiletries; the essentials for her hosts, a modest number of gifts for Akira, for his parents, and for Morgana. Finally, a bottle of water half-full, and a pocket-friendly umbrella should the clouds above end up spelling rain.

For good measure, she revised her last few messages. One thread came from their friends, each sending wishes for safe travel and loving words for Akira; another came from Sae, which Makoto replied to by letting her know she arrived safely. The third one was from her boyfriend – five minutes ago.

"Makoto. I'm very sorry. The gig with the band started off late. My mum knows you're coming. She's very excited to see you again. I'll be heading there the moment they finish. I'll make up for it! Love."

The young woman sighed. It sometimes felt like inconveniences piled up to their detriment at the worst times. She herself had been in his position many times throughout the semester, so she knew she could not truly blame him. Rather, she blamed the band he helped for their disorganisation. Regardless, there was some comfort to be had in this circumstance. She really liked her boyfriend's mother, Masako Kurusu, and even his father took a shine to her. They could have a chat, and maybe they could recommend some places to see on her first visit by herself.

Minor inconveniences aside, this day looked promising. It would be worth it, Makoto thought.

[ ]

Akira's shirt clung to his back from hot sweat, and frustration clung to his mood from a day that tested his patience from the very moment he woke up. He planned ahead for this day from a week ago, and he made sure to let everybody know, including Ryosuke and his boys – especially indecisive Ryosuke and his even more indecisive boys. Alas, they dropped the notice on him through a text message that morning, baiting him with a favour they promised "for him and his girl."

He would have simply said no, or pretended he misplaced his phone to untangle himself from the commitment. But one sour thought guided his decision through gritted teeth, something he realised too late: there was little to do in Kawasaki during the final days of the summer break – by then, only the stubborn dregs of the fish and produce markets by the harbour remained. There were no fireworks, no small but-charming-in-their-own-way festivals. Only the prospect of a romantic dinner with an amateur jazz band playing in the background.

Ever since his return to his homeland, Akira took on several activities to keep himself busy beyond his final year as a high school student. He took on a job at a small coffee shop to pile some more money into his savings. He joined a melding workshop to hone the skills he acquired in Juvie. And he responded to an ad pasted on Mikata's notice board requesting an assistant for a local jazz band just to fill his Sundays. The duties he performed for Moonlit Sparrows were fetching drinks and carrying equipment – in the process of which, he formed good acquaintance with trombone player Ryosuke Kanahara.

Knowing Ryosuke, he would do his best – and when he did, the rest of his boys were inevitably compelled to follow suit. After packing away the last of the instruments in the storehouse at the end of an impromptu rehearsal session, Akira went ahead to remind him of his promise. Akira was especially insistent on this day, and he had good reason to: not only was he meeting his girlfriend - whom he terribly longed to see - later than expected, he also felt he had a lot to make up for. They barely had any time to themselves the last he visited Tokyo.

She looked sad that day. Disappointed, Akira feared.

"Dude. Don't worry. You just send me a text. We'll be there. And look, we'll even get Sato-chan to do the lifting for once." Ryosuke turned to the band's plump and greatly talented drummer, whom looked as unamused as he did ninety-nine percent of the time. "Right, Sato-chan?" The drummer said nothing. "He blinked. That means yes."

"Right…" Akira was one of a mood with 'Sato-chan'.

"Why the long face, Akira-kun?" Ryosuke sounded genuinely oblivious.

"I was supposed to meet up with Makoto two hours ago."

"Oh." The prevailing oblivious tone irritated Akira, though he did not show it. "Well, we'll just make up for that. And well, you do know the thing with being fashionably late."

"Not really." Despite the somewhat unruly air about the young man, Akira Kurusu was never known to be either rude or unpunctual.

"First time for everything, Akira-kun." Those words bothered Akira more than Ryosuke could now. "Before you go…" Ryosuke searched in his jacket's pockets, finally pulling out a thin leather casing, which he handed to the young man. "Wear those. Your girl will like them." Akira pulled the circular red shades out of the casing. In terms of style, they looked older than him.

"Thanks." He did not bother to sound enthusiastic about the prospect of wearing them to impress Makoto.

The sky started turning grey as he rode his bike through the streets of Kawasaki. It took him a while to arrive to his parents' neighbourhood despite taking every shortcut he knew. And sooner than later, he felt one lonely raindrop on his arm. He cursed inward, fastidiously aware of the dampness on his back from carrying the band's equipment, and his mind travelled to the night before. He spent the better part of that evening cleaning his room and ironing his clothes.

As if to bite at his already weaning tranquillity, the moments of the previous evening unfolded in his mind once again.

"Why are you doing all this? It's not like there's bedbugs in the mattress." Morgana said the night before.

"It's… you wouldn't understand."

"So you say. But it's Queen! I don't see her getting on your case about a wrinkle on your shirt."

"Really, Mona?"

"It's not like you look like Ryuji most of the time. Plus, if she really minded it that much, don't you think she would have said something about your hair?"

The feline said nothing more, but he did barely manage to keep his laughter in at seeing Akira's face after that comment.

The sights became more and more familiar, until finally his parents' house could be seen ahead. He could barely contain the fluster of anticipation, but that feeling was tainted with a familiar dread. Was Makoto angry at him? Was she sad? Was she disappointed?

[ ]

Makoto covered the lower half of her face with her hand, and still Masako Kurusu could see her blushing bright. The young woman had grown slightly more confident about the details, both physical and emotional, to a relationship. But one thing was the intense attraction and fondness she felt for Akira – another entirely was to see his baby pictures. And on top of it all, Masako Kurusu insisted that the young woman address her by her first name, no honorifics.

"Masako. I feel so rude to ask, but… can I keep one of these?"

"Oh, you feel that strongly about my son, Mako-chan?" Akira's mother spoke with a cheeky warmth.

"I do." Makoto's fingers pulled at the edge of one photograph in particular. This one was taken by his father on one of the few times the ship was docked. Masako Kurusu could speak at length about each picture, but the one Makoto fell most enamoured with had a story that only Takahisa could fully tell – and he happened to be back at sea for the season. Nonetheless, Makoto felt a strong need to know the context to a three year old naked Akira trying to hide in a pot, little legs deep in the dark soil, and tiny, tiny hands attempting in vain to conceal his head from view. Even back then, his black hair was a rebellious, tangled mess.

"Of course you can have it, Mako-chan." She turned to Morgana, who pawed at another picture while uttering a long, loud meow. "Oh, what is it, Mona-kun? You like this one?"

"I demand to know what is this travesty!" Morgana protested in words only Makoto could hear at that moment. He referred to another picture showing little Akira cuddling in his sleep with a stuffed animal, which happened to be a black cat.

"He really likes this one, it seems!" Masako smiled.

"I think he's a bit jealous." She looked at Morgana straight in the eye. "Are you jealous, Mona?"

"Don't sass me, Beep boop." Morgana's reply left Makoto with her mouth agape. Despite the words brewing feverishly in Makoto's mind, the young woman contained herself for politeness's sake.

"That sounded like a very rude meow." Masako remarked. "I swear this cat somehow understands every word we say. My family has always owned cats, and none I've seen talks quite like Morgana."

"I can imagine. He IS a rather uncommon CAT." Makoto's inflexions were subtle, but she compounded them with the look in her eyes to deliver the blow to Morgana directly.

"Why, you…!" Morgana's eyes perked suddenly. "Someone's come in from the back."

"Huh?" Makoto could not suppress the reflex of caution and protection, which Akira's mother noticed.

"Is something wrong, Mako-chan?"

"Umm, excuse me, Masako." Makoto stood from her chair as calmly as she could while Morgana quietly slithered into the shadows of the living room in the direction of the back door. "I'm embarrassed to ask, but I need to use the restroom. Which way was it, again?"

Makoto did not truly need any directions, only a reason to excuse herself and intercept the intruder before they did any harm. Nevertheless, and against Makoto's wishes, Masako stood also, walking ahead of Makoto to show her the way.

"Oh! There's no need to-"

"Nonsense." Masako smiled. "It's this way."

Not a second later, a soaked silhouette glistened in the shadows. Makoto needed as short a period to register the image in the corner of her eye, before she went into fighting stance, ready and poised to defend Masako Kurusu.

A bolt of lightning flashing in from the window lit the scene enough to evidence Akira as the 'intruder', pale and slouching in stealthful manner. His girlfriend managed to stop herself before her fist came into contact with his face. Yet the same could not be said about his feline friend, as he ambushed him from above, falling on his head, claws out.

"Morgana!" Makoto and Akira both exclaimed in unison, the latter feeling the claws sink in his scalp.

"What's going on!? A-Akira?" Masako's eyes processed the scene.

"Huh!?" Morgana only started to comprehend. "W-what?"

"Hi, Makoto. Hi, mum. Hi… Morgana." Akira went from pale to red almost instantly.

Considering the awkwardness of the moment, Makoto was suitably quiet and perplexed. This was definitely not what she pictured as way to meet her boyfriend once again. But as their eyes met, the only thing keeping her from embracing and kissing Akira was a sense of modesty from being in the presence of his mother.

"Why were you coming in through the back door, Akira?" Masako asked.

"I… wanted to surprise you!" The young man spoke as nonchalantly as he managed. Neither his mother, nor his girl, or even the cat who still clung to his head believed it.

After continuing the chat, with Akira and coffee present, Masako excused herself to give them some privacy. Akira's hand sought Makoto's as soon as his mother was out of the living room. The young woman laced her fingers with his, but despite the physical connection, a wall of silence stood between them, peppered with the sounds of rain outside.

"You didn't really just mean to surprise us, did you?"

"Yes and no." He admitted. "I only wanted to surprise you. I pictured it going differently, though. The day hasn't exactly turned out how I hoped."

"A bad day?" Makoto brought his fingers closer with both hands, and started kissing each one.

"Yeah… until now." Akira smiled, looking a tad shier than he knew.

"For what it's worth. You did surprise me, and not in a bad way." Some things she preferred keeping to herself, mostly out of discretion; but sometimes it was just to keep herself from being even more of a blushing mess, such as how quickly she noticed the way his shirt clung to his skin from the rain and the sweat. What she suspected in the shadow was clear under the small dining room's light: carrying all that musical equipment for months had a rather flattering effect on his frame.

"I'm glad to hear that. The plan was to sneak in, get dry, and change into something nicer. I guess I didn't think the ramifications through."

"It's a shame, really." Morgana said, having joined the conversation suddenly after his afternoon snack. "He spent all night preparing his clothes and all."

"MORGANA!" Akira and Makoto both exclaimed at the same time.

"Geez. It's not like you were stripping each other." He said as he took his leave. The echo of his words remained in the air after he left, and in their heads.

"Umm, the coffee is really good! What blend is it?" Makoto said quickly to draw Akira's attention away from the hue on her face that betrayed how vividly she imagined those words unfolding into action.

"I forget…" His thoughts followed a similar line, but a different destination. He quickly changed the subject. "Hey, are you hungry?"

Akira quickly prepared a late lunch for them both. As he chopped vegetables and poured the precise amount of spices, he silently cogitated on Ryosuke's favour, and how late it may be to cash it in today. He wondered if it had even been worth it. Every time he glanced back, he saw Makoto almost enthralled to see him executing his craft so deftly. Every moment of it was precious, but limited. The hours he spent helping the band equated to hours he spent away from Makoto, hours of which he endured uncountable many already.

But he could not bring himself to speak of that. It was not worth it, he thought, to dwell on unease – not anymore. Just one more glance before serving the fruit of his labour. He could not know if his earlier worries would prove unwarranted, but simply being in Makoto's company was all he needed to deliver himself fully to the now. They caught up over lunch. Regardless of the problems unsaid, it was a great joy for both to know they each carried on steadfast with their dreams. The possibility of Akira returning to Tokyo for the long term looked ever closer, which put a shine to Makoto's smile throughout the conversation.

Meanwhile, the rain kept falling outside. By the time it got dark, the frustrations and little misfortunes to their day weighed and mattered as little as a speck of dust, and the biggest concern was the most mundane matter of where Makoto would spend the night. Akira brooked no argument: Makoto would have his bed, something she suspected he would say and was quickly prepared to contest.

"Not happening, Makoto." Akira put his fingers in his ears as a cartoonish gesture. "It's basic etiquette. You know this."

"Don't give me that! You would still go for the couch if it was my place!"

"Well, yeah. But that's just because I'd rather stay on your sister's good side." He chuckled.

"You're full of it. You only want to make me feel flustered."

"Not at all. You really are pretty cute when you get that way, though."

"Don't do this to me, Akira…"

"Come now. It's just the right thing to do. You're my guest, and it's not like this couch is a bad place to crash." He placed his hands around her, pulling her closer. "And you even get to share the bed with Mona. What's not to like about that?"

"… I'd rather share it with you." She muttered without thinking, too late realising what she said, by which moment she pressed her hands tight against her face.

Her comment made Akira blush slightly, but his expression said it plainly: he greatly enjoyed having heard that.

"Good night!" Makoto made towards her boyfriend's room in a playful mockery of an outrage.

"Good night." Akira caught up to her, with hands over her shoulders, whispering in her ear. "I love you." Finally planting a tender kiss on the back of her neck.

"I love you too." She turned around, reciprocating on his lips.

And so, the first day came to an end, seemingly without a significant stumble. But in the black of night, it was Makoto's turn to dwell – not out of her fear of the dark, but out of a sensation that had been lingering within for a time. It made plain sense when she thought of it soberly. It was natural to experience something like this – it would probably, in fact, be cause of concern if she did not.

There was nothing wrong about feeling physical attraction for her significant other. Nothing wrong about wanting intimacy with him. Nothing wrong about holding to the image of the muscles beneath the rain-soaked shirt, the artful shape of his body as he poured himself into his trade, or the lingering sensation of his lips against her skin.

Nothing wrong about thinking more – wanting more.

She managed to distract herself from it since the last time they met - with relative success. Unsurprisingly, the amounts of studying and reviewing she heaped on herself were great help; exercise was even better. But the notion still caught her defenceless in idle moments, and it was never entirely unwanted, also never overbearing to the point of being a hounding distraction. It was something Makoto was at peace with. Akira's presence alone did not stir the urge. But the little graces, just like the little inconveniences, piled up at crucial moments.

Sometimes, she gave in. Not tonight, not as a guest gracefully taken. Not alone, furtive, transgressive.

Restless, the final thought she struggled to quell was the awareness that he slept in this bed. His scent, if she inclined herself to test it, could still be perceived. A scent she wished close.

Makoto turned in Akira's bed, fighting to fall asleep for over an hour. The night was not getting any shorter. So she took a deep breath and admitted defeat.

She would not give in. Not here. Not like this. But the prospect of a peaceful night was not in her reach. As quietly as she could, she walked out into the kitchen, taking the liberty to fill herself a glass of water. On the way, however, she met with a sight both dear and bleak in the living room. Akira also seemed unable to sleep. Even before hearing his reasoning to it, Makoto felt guilt.

"Makoto. Is something wrong?" The young man stood up from his makeshift bed in the couch; silhouette lit softly by a small lamp next to the armrest. He had a book in his hand, but the look in his eyes was not of disposition for late night reading.

"Oh, not at all. I just… needed some water."

"Hot night, huh?"

"You could say that." Makoto showed him a half-smile.

"Let me get it for you." Akira fetched a glass for her, filling it generously with cold water. In the middle of it all, Makoto soundlessly followed him, staying in close distance as if savouring the very air around him. He looked surprised only for an instant when he turned around and saw his girlfriend close to him – intimately so. She did not say a thing, neither an apology nor an attempt to justify herself. Makoto simply could not pry her eyes off of his. Her plump lower lip quivered with craving.

She wanted him.

And he wanted her.

There was only but a pause – different from the awkward hesitation of a first kiss. As time went by and as they discovered more and more comfort in each other's physicality, the little moments of quiet before a kiss or a caress started to change their tone. From shy to mischievous, from innocence to candour. Now, from calm to storm. Upon their lips meeting, Makoto pressed herself towards Akira, guided by arousal breaking free. Her spine jolted in pleasure from the touch of his fingers, holding her tight and close, yoking them together into one shadow under the kitchen's light, one warmth enveloping them whole: one long, shared breath.

Daybreak would catch them in the kitchen once again, busy making breakfast together. But between then and their kiss were hours spent outside with the grass beneath their bare feet, and the wayward nocturne gusts keeping them close to each other. It was not the need for privacy or the stifling heat suddenly seeped into the room what led them to go on a nightly strolled as they claimed. There was something else to catch up on: a matter of anxiety and uncertainty, and intimacy.

Unburdened one word at a time, the couple felt more aware of their surroundings, and of the confident beauties of a summer night in the coast. Neither was much of a selenophile, but the full moon high in the middle of the night sky deserved a better, more tranquil look. They did not care that the grass was still wet from such a rainy day. Together, they lay next to each other under the moon.

"I did enjoy it, Akira." She said.

"Enjoyed what?"

"Your visit. I really did. I'm glad it happened." Her legs started to go numb in the tangle with his.

"I'll believe you, but it was, you know…"

"Awkward?"

"And sloppy."

"I don't think that's out of the ordinary. From… what I've, um, read."

"I suppose." Akira let out of a farewell of a sigh to the lingering anxious phantom. "Well, it seems we both feel better about that."

"Yeah. I'd like to try again, though."

"Me too."

Her body felt warm against his. If he synchronised touch and mind the right way, she almost felt like an extension of himself, every square millimetre of her was his, and vice versa. Yet there was something poking at his left leg that was not part of either. With his free hand, Akira searched through the pockets on his trousers, which he forgot to change out of, and found the red circular shades Ryosuke gave him to impress Makoto. An odd thing to have at this hour, in this position. He held them in front of him towards the sky, and saw how the moon glanced back red.

With a playful smile, she put the shades on his girlfriend's face. He had no time to look at himself in the mirror, but he knew they looked better on her than they did on him. She gorgeous, but then again – she forever did.

Makoto thought it was a romantic addition for the night, to see the moon blushing, besotted, a little lustful, and enamoured at the sight of them like this. She knew the best part was to come: taking them off and finding she needed no rose-tinted glasses to find her boyfriend so beautiful.

Four days to come. No use thinking, no use dreading them slipping by.


	2. Chapter 2

Day Two: Dual Wills

This was not normal. Nothing about this situation should have turned as out of the ordinary as it did. In the world of the Phantom Thieves, the notions of 'normal' and 'ordinary' carried in themselves a close meeting with the uncanny, almost on a daily basis. Still, the leader Akira Kurusu – nom de guerre: Joker – could hardly believe his eyes. Across from him, his lieutenant and lover Makoto Niijima – known and feared as Queen – shared the same thought, with two red eyes, wide open, looking back at him through her iron mask.

Between them, their objective, a Shadow manifested in a shape not at all unfamiliar to Joker. The Battle Fiend, the fearsome Hindu Demon known as Rakshasa. Joker himself had at one point enlisted its form as a Persona in the past. That was months ago; the Phantom Thieves had grown much stronger since then. Thinking along those lines, this foe should be easily trampled underfoot by now. But that, surprisingly, has not been the case.

Around them, in the crude battlefield of an isolated space in Mementos, their teammates all lay incapacitated, spread right where they fell before the unlikely might of Rakshasa, or rather, Yohei Kiritani's Shadow. Although Joker and Queen were the only ones still standing, their forces were almost spent. Their next attack had to be the last one, and they had better emerge victorious, otherwise the worst case scenario may unfold in the most unexpected of places.

Queen's expression silently looked to him for guidance. Joker nodded with serenity as means of reassurance; but unbeknownst to her, most of his efforts were funnelled into clearing all anxiety from his face. A semblance of a strategy began to take form in his head, but he needed to be careful and consider the options. Whichever decision he took, he only needed to give Queen a sign. They waited for an opening, but so did Kirinati's Shadow.

The context provided by their ally and PhanSite admin, Yuuki Mishima, had them classify this request as a top priority. Yohei Kiritani, vagabond by day, scourge of the underworld by night. Though the reasoning to his actions could be commendable from a certain a highly flexible of view, they would most likely carry dire ramifications, and the sheer brutality of his methods when eliminating mobsters only raised the probabilities of a gang war breaking out.

Urgency aside, the Phantom Thieves made the mistake of approaching this objective like they did so many others. The Shadows corrupted from distorted desires were invariably stronger than their more common counterpart – those that mindlessly roamed the tracks – but neither actually posed a challenge for what Ryuji "Skull" Sakamoto dubbed the Way of the Cobra: Lightning-fast offence, quick and relentless; suitable support only as a precaution to dull or evade any counterattack. In a disturbing show of irony, Skull was the first to fall to the Shadow's twin blades.

Noir followed, and then Fox. Both Joker and Queen tried to land an effective attack, but wound up hitting only air. Panther, incensed by her friends' fall, unleashed an inferno of a flame directly at their foe. Alas, Rakshasa somehow managed to deflect the massive flame shot to Oracle's trajectory, making the airborne navigator land in a crash. Daunted by sudden turn of her attack, Panther was unprepared to dodge the Shadow's follow-up. But at seeing his beloved Ann in peril, Mona leapt to take the hilt for her, effectively putting himself out of combat. A bitter, lead-like taste of witnessing futility tainted the palate for Joker and Queen, as Panther was knocked out immediately after, regardless.

All of that happened in less than a minute.

Something curious about this Rakshasa in particular. Its behaviour was far different from most others. Despite being equipped with the same twin blades, it wielded them far more competently, gracefully even. It moved much quicker, and executed its attacks with incredible skill. A frighteningly efficient demon assassin – fitting counterpart for an experienced mercenary. But despite how it flaunted its credentials, none of the hits it delivered looked lethal. Either with the hilt of a sword, or the flat side of it, each blow was meant only to incapacitate, to remove each foe from the fight without causing further damage.

Something that went against the nature of a Shadow borne from carnage. It was as if it held back, as if Yohei Kiritani himself unconsciously held back in the battlefield.

"Phantom Thieves." It spoke. "I know what you are thinking. You are thinking why would I go through the bother of just putting each of you down without killing you."

It spun, taking its eyes off of Joker and focusing on Queen. Despite having turned its back on the Leader, this was not an opening – and they both knew it.

"You see. I don't think your lives are worth ending here, like this, in my hands."

"Why is that?" Queen got him to continue talking. Joker knew she was quick to pick up on the flow of things. In battle, she was more than a powerful attacker, she was also a deft analyst, and as good a judge of character as she was in the world above.

The leader thought quickly. A head-on attack would most likely end in failure. They could try and revive their defeated friends, but Joker did not know if he had the necessary energy for that, and if he did, there was no guarantee he would not be putting his friends in the line of fire once again. Furthermore, if his memory served him right, Rakshasa had the means to eliminate them all if they were to corner it. For example, he could focus all of its strength into one single, definite attack. Considering the strength and range it exhibited, it could take them out in one single swoop.

Unless…

Joker grinned, finding one small object in particular in his slacks' pocket. Under the right circumstances, it could turn the tide in a definite way. These were not the right circumstances, so he had to create them.

"Because you are like me." The Shadow had no visible mouth, but something about its voice hinted at a smile, a confident, doubtless smile.

"We do not kill, Kiritani-san." Queen said firmly.

"You and I target the cancers that plague society. We both work towards ridding the country from evil men. How you and I go about it does not matter."

"Or does it?" Joker fetched the Shadow's attention. In the minuscule interval it took Rakshasa to turn around, Joker gambled a sign for Queen to see. He had an idea – a risky plan that would put him directly under the Shadow's offensive. Judging by her expression behind the Shadow's back, she understood what he meant, and did not like it at all.

By now, she knew he was not one to go back on its decisions. He made it very clear to her when he admitted that her feelings for him were not unrequited. Her initial worries and fears were met by unabashed certainty. And if not to her alone, he made it clear by his commitment to his friends and comrades from even before she thought to notice him. Considering it all, it was all the more concerning that his plan – or the start of it – consisted of baiting his attacks.

But the subtleties of his face, even if concealed beneath the mask, spelled absolute faith in her. She trusted him with so much; her torments, her history, and her heart. And he lovingly carried it all with no hesitation, infallibly so. And here he was now, essentially trusting her with his life. Under the tension of it all, Queen did not see this as a fair trade. She would scold him for this when they returned – because she knew they would.

But the message was incomplete.

"It does not matter. These gangsters. They prey on all, even on elders, and children… Don't get me started on the children."

"But it does matter." Makoto pressed him. "However much of a scourge they are, we cannot – no, we must not, stoop down to the same means as them."

There it was, another part of the message: a hand gesture with no words – a finger first pointing at him, then at her, and back at him again.

"There is no stooping down, young lady! This is what I do! This is what I've done all my life! It is my nature, my history. You don't need to ever get your hands dirty like this, but I - I will take this blade and I will plunge it into the black heart of the scum!"

Another sign. Stand by. Joker felt the very palpable weight of one object in particular stored in his pocket.

"But have you stopped to think of the consequences?" Joker made him turn again. "All this bloodshed. It will solve nothing. Really, you're just going to make it worse. They will want retaliation, but it won't be you they'll turn their blade on."

"It will be the general populace, the civilians, elders, and yes, children even." The gambit pulsated with sincerity despite its design to distract. "You do not hesitate to kill. And neither will they."

"What is the endgame then, Kiritani-san?"

"What will be your solution for the street war you will unleash?"

The final sign. Go.

"Then I will simply need to kill them all!" Rakshasa lunged forward once more.

Joker summoned Arsene, immediately unleashing tendrils of black smoke after materialising from the ehter. It was a weak means of attack, but its sound masked that of Queen calling forth Anat, and it was something he could consistently with what little energy remained in him. On her part, Queen had more alternatives; virtually everything in her skillset could cover any intended purpose. The anger amassed in her heart called for her to attack while the Shadow had its back to her, though that would only prove futile; fear urged her to try and heal their teammates and aim for escape, but chances of success were minimal considering Rakshasa's speed.

Instead she listened to patience and trust; and what precious little energy she had in store, she used to raise Joker's defences should his evasive manoeuvres mistime. Her role afterwards would not be simply praying for success. She joined in the strategy by letting Anat swipe his attention towards her, just to give Joker a few seconds to catch his breath.

Arsene swooped in with a claw to take Rakshasa off of Anat's back for a moment. Anything with the semblance of an attack was truly just a mockery, a jab with hardly any strength behind it, but quick enough to leave room between the Persona and the Shadow. Little by little, Joker's plan started to make more sense to Queen, and the gamble looked secure by the time the Shadow became frustrated and angry.

The poking and teasing between Arsene and Anat continued until every slash was followed by a cavernous growl. Finally, the demon ceased its barrage, and instead prepared for the final assault, one that would wipe both the leader and his lieutenant. It was the calm before the storm. A breath before the carnage.

Joker felt every adrenaline-drenched second in the beating of his heart. The time was now.

He commanded Arsene to unleash all of its hellish bale into one legitimate attack on the Shadow. Joker knew it would be ineffectual, but damaging Rakshasa was not the intended outcome. The adversary turned towards him, enraged, fully meaning to devote this final slash to him – there was no holding back this time.

The Shadow roared furious. Its blades both collided with Joker's frame. Judging by their trajectory and force, the result would be a three-sectioned Akira Kurusu, decapitated and split at the waist, his expression frozen forever in that smirk that sent a jolt into Makoto Niijima's blood. At that moment, Queen thought of what she saw, and she wanted nothing more than to cover her eyes and never open them again.

But she did not blink, not even for an instant. Relief took a while to take over the nauseating effect of terror, as the impact of Rakshasa's blades turned on the Shadow instead. Joker was intact. The demonic casing of Yohei Kiritani's Shadow fell soundly defeated, and between them, tiny shards of a broken mirror – some mystical artefact designed to reflect the force of physical impact with equal velocity and intensity.

The distortion in Yohei Kiritani was no more. The product of his unwillingness to face the demons of his past as a contract killer marked another heart changed before it developed a Palace. The terrible outcomes of his actions as a vigilante were averted. Queen knew all of this, but was concerned with none of it. All her eyes cared to register was that Joker was still alive.

She ran up to him, and held him so tightly that even her own breath was stifled. Joker, on his part, was not to underestimate Queen's strength. But despite the pain, she could not help but put his arms around her as well.

"We did it, Queen."

"Shut up. Shut up, shut up. Never do that again. Never put yourself in danger like that again."

"I won't." Joker smiled like a child.

"I said shut up. Just… just kiss me, you damn idiot." The last thing Makoto would have thought she wanted or needed at this point was to feel his breath in hers. So cliché, so trite. But if there was a more concrete, a more indisputable way to confirm his survival, she could not think of any. And if she did, it was too late to turn back now.

The Shadow, liberated from its corruption, could not help but smile, endeared about the display of affection unfolding before his eyes. His days of killing were over. Things would unfold as they will, for better or worse. But if there was something he still protested was the dominion of modesty in Japanese society, especially when it came to people who intensely cared for each other. As he faded from view, back into the man's heart, he privately wondered what would a Phantom Thief become as they grew older, living in this twisted world.

[ ]

The ride back home felt quicker than anticipated, even if the group discussed the need for new tactics when it came to Shadows down in Mementos. No longer could they underestimate an adversary. They did not know it at the time, but this new tactical perspective would prove vital for the weeks to come. There would be no braving to the cognitive underworld the following day; from this latest experience, some rest and relaxation was in order. Akira Kurusu felt the urge to visit the Shibuya Underground in search for Kiritani-san, if only to wish him well.

He was not entirely wrong, after all. Perhaps, from a very skewed perspective, they truly were kindred spirits. The memory of the man would inevitably return for reflection, days, months, years ahead.

But for now, he would lay in bed, getting an early night, still feeling the ache in his ribs. But it did not hurt – not at all. Before going under the weight of sleep, he felt a boyish joy in wondering whether Makoto was thinking about him at the end of such a long day.

She was.


	3. Chapter 3

Day Three: From Shadow...

Somewhere, somewhen in the fabric of infinity – a thing both glorious and grotesque – a tear came to be. Why and how make up a story of magnificent proportions, riddled with triumph, demise, broken promises and fallen heroes. But such story does not really matter; only its consequences do. You may have felt it yourself, the tear occurring: a sensation like a flicker in your senses, too real to be ignored, but you could not quite place just what happened. At the end, it passed as quickly as it came; you thought little of it come the next day. Life goes on in peace.

Elsewhere, elsewhen in the fabric of infinity, the pebble caused ripples, from which another world was born. This world is very similar to yours and mine, but a very particular set of differences make life in this new Earth an unrecognisable phenomenon. Extract one war from history, delay or hasten another. Displace the epicentre of promethean discoveries and scientific advances. And in the resulting sum, you will find new beliefs, new practices, and new prejudices. A new world entirely for human kind.

But most people in our world have no equivalent counterpart in this other. The alternate flux of history meant many who would be our furthest ancestors never met, others never born, and others snuffed out of existence before their time - by intent or chance. It can be a haunting thought to consider an Earth in which the people you take for granted in your everyday life, those you hold dear, and even yourself never came to be. This, of course, includes the grand personages, the geniuses and inspired ones, the great authors and leaders. In logical terms, different should not necessarily mean worse; nevertheless, life is a bleak matter for a great many.

And yet, the real tragedy falls on those rare ones who exist in the other Earth as they do in the world we know. No matter their way in life, they will forever feel an invisible, intangible bond with their counterparts in our Earth. They will always crave for connections they are only instinctively aware of, and finding them impossible to recreate, they will suffer from the lack of it. In several societies, these 'afflicted ones' are considered to suffer from a very particular kind of madness, and they become branded by prejudice and hatred.

This is the story of one such individual: a 22-year old woman named Makoto Niijima. In our world, she is the mighty Queen of the Phantom Thieves. But in this waste land of an Earth, she is the Child of Strife.

After the World War, triggered by the assassination of a King, a Kaiser and a Tsar, Japan became a nation chained to the Empire across the Pacific. Every citizen, from the moment they were born, was subjected to the whim of the popularly-called 'Orange Overlord'. Every child grew with submission under their tongue, and their upbringing was carefully guided to generate a lawful citizen when they came of age. Any suspicion of 'unlawfulness' was merciless quelled so as not incur in the Overlord's anger lest he execute what he called the 'final solution'. Though Japan was always a militarised nation, these stern measures were relatively new.

In the eyes of many, there was one man responsible for this new way of life: Masayoshi Shido, leader of the resistance against the Empire across the Pacific. He was eventually found in Okinawa, where he was given shelter, soon arrested and executed, but new oppressive laws were instituted after this affair, and a new racial hatred spawned against all Okinawa-natives. A land of cowards and traitors, it was said. All familial or political links to Okinawa were punished and severed.

And it just so happened that General Akihiko Niijima had secretly aided this resistance. But his fate was different from Shido's, for the Niijima name carried a weight borne out of tradition. No matter the age, whether at war or at a frail peace, there was always a Niijima in office. Rather than being executed, he was exiled along with his wife, leaving one daughter, Captain Sae Niijima, to fill the gap in the unspoken order of things. It needed not be said that Sae would be yoked to her duties for life in order to atone for her father's 'treasonous leaning'.

Therefore, Sae had to leave her little sister under the care of the state. From the moment of their farewell, Sae knew she might never see Makoto again in her life. In their final embrace, Sae thought she would be forgiven for bearing great anger towards her father, but it was not him she was angry at, and it was not mere anger what constricted her heart – it was hate, towards the world that subjected her family like this. But she would carry its weight without protesting, for Makoto's sake.

Makoto was four years old when the streets became her parents. To the other kids, she was a quiet, awkward girl, but normal regardless. The first signs of 'madness' began to manifest a few weeks before turning eighteen. The first sign was in how she stared at the walls and doors of the lower reaches in the city. Usually diligent to a fault, she suddenly started to delay at work, and her attention began to falter in her classes. The rumours began to coil around her in hushed whispers.

But it was the easiest thing to witness the avalanche of ridicule and shunning about to fall on her head. From her perspective, the overwhelming sensation of longing was much worse than anything her peers or superiors could throw at her. She knew what happiness was – she had known it when she was four years old, when her family was whole. After the forced disintegration of her family, she never knew happiness again, but did not actually know sorrow either. Now, for the first time, she experienced it.

They would never know it, but it took monumental inner strength to keep her feelings contained to appear as mere distractedness. Within, the sudden feeling of lack had her search in the surface of walls for a shadow that kept eluding her. She felt as though her own mind were playing her a prank when the shadow was joined by six others, never more and never fewer than that.

Makoto was alone one day on her way to her room at a building in one of the lower reaches. She deliberately searched for a dead end, somewhere with no ears to catch her words. By now, the sound of her own voice was alien to herself; she cared little for communicating with any of her peers, especially these days. But she felt ever the more compelled to rationalise what her eyes showed her.

Any secluded, deserted spot would do. The seven shadows accompanied her everywhere.

"H-hello." The sound came out barely above a murmur. Makoto turned around discreetly to make sure she was alone. "Hello." She repeated, a little more secure.

The shadows appeared to be frozen all over the wall in front of her, seated here and there in disorderly manner. All were seated, except for one. Only a shadow, but it vaguely seemed as if it was looking at her – no, as if it was seeing her.

"Who are you?" Makoto asked, to no response. "Who are you?" Again, louder.

The first time lasted hardly a minute. The next tried were longer, but never too long so as to keep discreet. But every time, she retired to her room, dragging along this sudden uninvited weight, and every time closer to tears.

[ ]

It was delivery day. Throughout these fourteen years, the only contact she has had with her sister was through a package delivered periodically. It always contained food, and the closest thing she could send as means of a gift. On rare few occasions, there was a typed letter from Sae, letting her know she was safe and that she loved her. Makoto always cried when she got them, for the love her sister still bore her, for having no means to write back, and for having to burn the letter afterwards every time.

Regardless of what the package contained, it was always brought by a courier with covered features. It was not the same courier every time, and even though they never spoke to her, she had ways to tell each apart. This time, it was the courier she liked. Tall and lean, one eye looking slightly different to the other – as if it were made of glass. He first started delivering Sae's packages when she was six years old. He stood out from the others for his habit of eating his lunch while he waited for Makoto to arrive; and when she did arrive, he always shared some of his food with her. That habit prevailed across the years, and this time was no exception.

She never heard a word from any of the couriers. But somehow this one was the quietest of them all.

"Thank you." She said when he served half of his spiced potato on a napkin for her.

She ate in silence as she always did, but after a minute she noticed how the courier looked at her with curiosity. Makoto tried to feign ignorance, but she was well aware that her peers and superiors strayed further away, as if her efforts to keep her composure proved less effective each time. Would he also?

"I'm fine." She said, meaning to say something else entirely, something efficient and sound to stave off the suspicions.

With a certain nonchalance, the courier returned to his half potato, as if the uncomfortable moment were of no importance.

Unbeknownst to her, this would be the calmest day in her life before it all came tumbling down.

[ ]

Strangely, it seemed as if the more she tried to hide the effects of what she experienced, the more evident they became. A superior reached out to her in time. He looked concerned, and he was very patient when asking Makoto if something was wrong. By this time, the young woman had lost count of the days since she first saw the shadows; she did not know how much longer could she go on like this. So she spoke truly. It did not help in itself, but it was a minor comfort to know somebody cared.

That feeling did not last. She never knew if the superior had indeed passed the information on to anyone else, but the teasing, the bullying, and downright abuse from her peers went unpunished since that day. The day after she confessed her trouble was the first time she heard the word, now yoked to her name in school and work.

Loon. After it was first spoken, somebody wrote it in big black letters on the walls of her room.

Things got progressively worse since. The word became a vise around her head, callously tightening a little more each day. Makoto, vulnerable from the anxiety and depression that made every day barely endurable, looked in the eyes of her peers for compassion, but she found only a desire to harm. And even then, amidst the uniformed youths and superiors, her eyes easily found the seven shadows, each calling out to her somehow. The first shadow was right in front of her, seeing her past the abuse flung her way. It was then than she discarded all willingness to hide it.

"Help me…" She said, as she went down on her knees, hands clutching her head. "Please…" She sobbed. "Help me."

The shadow was closer, reaching out to her, seeking her impossible reciprocation.

Makoto Niijima disappeared the day after. She renounced her room, and from her own perspective, her sanity as well. Until that moment, the road to her life was a rigid frame: studying and working towards a position in the army, to server next to her sister, and live one day at a time. That was the only objective she could think of since Sae was the only one who cared about her.

But was she indeed?

With every moment that passed, it seemed to Makoto as if the shadows that roamed her diseased mind cared about her as well – they certainly cared more than her actual peers, many of which she grew up with. Even the courier with the glassy eye held her in better regard, even when the signs of her madness looked obvious.

It was a cold, misty night which found her out in the ravaged, urban lower reaches, crying under a full moon over the family she lost, and the future that looked all but lost now. The shadows did not abandon her in this cold spot. She welcomed their presence, even if they heralded the unbearable yearning she still felt. If loving the cause of her distress was not a sign of insanity, what indeed could be?

But the greatest insanity of them all was the idea that came at the end of a string of bitter thoughts. Impossible as it may be, she would get her family back, she would make peace with the sorrow the shadows brought into her mind. And she would have her vengeance against the world.

And so, Makoto Niijima took her first steps on the path of strife.

The planned course was hardly changed in itself. She needed to attain a position of dominance, and in order to do so, she needed fortitude and knowledge. The former would come to her in time, so long as she stayed faithful to her goal and never surrendered. But the latter involved a more concrete approach. She needed studying materials, to which she had no access anymore since abandoning her classes, but what good were those pamphlets to her? Even before the first inkling of madness, she knew these materials outlived their use so long ago. She required advanced materials that were out of her reach – that is, if she cared to be the idle kind of 'loon'.

Her first attempt at breaking and entering the sanctioned library ended in utter failure, getting caught immediately after breaking the window to get access. For the crime of vandalism, she faced incarceration for no less than one year. However, she reaped the dubious benefit of being easily recognised by the guards. Rather than being locked up, she was let go with a warning, or at least that was the way they spun the tale on paper.

Makoto was free to walk away from the charge, but not before they pinned her to the ground and shaved her head to the scalp. She may never comprehend the reasoning behind this type of punishment. At that moment, with the grime and the dirt against her cheek, it felt only like cruelty. Their laughter echoed across the alleyways, and it seemed to the girl as if the reaches, and the world were all laughing along, laughing at her.

Just how much of this world was cause and consequence, and just how much was simple cruelty? The guards said something to her at the end of it: they said she should feel lucky she did not end up maimed or raped. Those words gave her some food for thought on the matter; that would be for much later, same as feeling her naked head with her hands for the first time. For now, and for the hours to come, all in her mind was the strange position of the shadow in her eyes. It seemed as if he was reaching out to her, as if it wanted to help her.

And she wished it could, from the bottom of her heart.

This would be an early one of many times she wished the shadow was at her side, as a person. It seemed to know her about as much as Sae, if not maybe more. And to Makoto, it felt as if she herself was supposed to know it too. Every day, the sensation grew stronger, the ghost of a connection. Every day, she strayed further and further from whatever actual people she saw every day. After the courier she liked stopped showing up, she figured she may as well be alone forever.

He never said a word to her. Still, it hurt.

Henceforth, Makoto Niijima began to learn from her mistakes, honing her skills on her own, educating herself, surviving by her fists alone. Her hair grew back eventually, but the memory of the cruel deed remained. It fed her resolve, and taught her to see other foul deeds unseen to others. She vowed to right all those wrongs – and if such a thing was insanity, then so be it.

All who witnessed her bloody stride came to know her as the Child of Strife. Her exterior radiated a strength and fortitude, matched by intelligence and valour. But within, she chided herself every hour for loving a shadow.

For there was no denying it anymore. Somehow, she knew the person who owned that shadow. They are somebody important, so important to her. And if her eyes were not fooling her worse than she already thought, she was important to it as well.

It might have started as a whim, but it eventually became a commitment, and a necessity. This world felt so hollow, so unreal to her, but the shadows none but her could see – her companions throughout inexplicable sorrow – felt ever more real.

She was mad: what had she to lose?

Makoto Niijima would find whomever owned the shadow.


	4. Chapter 4

Day Four: ...Delivered into the Light

Rainy autumn approached quick, unchecked until it loomed over the city with dire inevitability.

Days became weeks, and weeks became months. With a handful of years behind her, Makoto Niijima developed an uncanny bond with the shadow and its companions. It was part of her now: a cluster of feelings so intense; of loyalty, understanding, concern, trust, love. It glowed so brightly in her chest that she felt her blood run a bit warmer every time she thought of them. With time, she concluded that her fathomless sorrow, and her madness, were a consequence of being unable to reach out to them. Every day, she was ever more certain.

They must be real, they must be out there.

He must be real.

It took her a year to think of the first shadow that came to her as a person, as somebody to whom she could assign a sex. Three years passed after that, and she could not give him a name. It pained her to think of this shadow as a nameless individual, as just a vague notion of 'you'. But those few years were not without progress.

Feeling the connection closer to her than before, she took to observing every place she roamed, to feeling and thinking of it as somewhere familiar, even if she had never set foot on them before. A tunnel beneath the reaches, an old decrepit attic, a roof overlooking the grey landscape, a series of random empty lots that felt special for some reason. In no few occasions, Makoto walked into the labyrinth of alleyways, convinced she would find a clearing at the end, only to find a dead end halting her step.

Yet rather than feeling discouraged, she felt voraciously curious. Why was a wall built here? Or why did she think the way led any further in? Was it all a whim of her broken mind? Or…

No, it was no use cogitating over something like that. She could easily chalk this up to a cognitive dissonance, a disparity of which she read years ago during one of her more successful break-ins. In broad terms, her mental and emotional state could be having a strong influence in the way she perceived the world, extending to physical features, the dimension of things, their physical features, their geography, etcetera. By this reasoning, her efforts spelled only futility.

But she did not want to stop herself now, or ever. If there was any common sense remaining, it would tell her to continue her life as safe and meekly as possible. It was true that her options were even more limited than before, but she could still plead her way back to the institution – she would have a steady roof over her head, and she would not need to fight for her meals. The materials for her to study would be sub-par, but she could still fool herself into thinking they were fitting for someone like she.

A life of freedom and security within the bounds of a world that made sense. But there was neither freedom nor security in the paradigm her generation inherited, and this world did not make sense in the slightest. Such delusional path would be no life for her to live, merely borrowed time alongside others as doomed as her. She could do nothing for them, but maybe – by following these roads into impossible destinations – she could do something for her self.

At first, it seemed as if the shadow was guiding Makoto into the darkness of the city's underbelly with only an unspoken promise of safety. She learned to fear the dark after her parents and her sister were forced to abandon her. The hushed tales of the terrible things that occurred in dark passageways kept her awake many a night, and now she still found no reason to think them mere tales. But, as her quest continued, the fear of the dark gave way to courage. Through cautious, but steady steps, Makoto became the one to beckon the shadow as she led them through the path.

She could almost feel him close behind, covering her rear from all menace while she advanced as his relentless shield. This - the search - felt right, and real; truer than all the days preceding her madness, truer than the dull spaces between the now and the mirth of being her parents' daughter, and her sister's little companion. Makoto held those two ends close to her heart, visualised them in her mind, and turned them into concrete, brick and mortar. Those were her walls, her frame to keep her from becoming lost, and in between those walls, she found her way.

Arms straight out to her sides, the girl advanced forward into the dark. She felt the warm, smooth surface of them graze gently against her fingertips with each step. And on her face, a cool wind, the like of which she had never felt before. The fluttering strands of her fringe obstructed her view somewhat, but even as she brushed them aside, the scene was the same as the very instant she found the way out the darkness.

She was convinced she had walked across a ground floor for the last hour. There were no stairs to climb, no elevators to ride. But this was nonetheless a roof. It gazed far wide beyond the dreary grey regions of the city, looking over smaller buildings and collapsed structures. There was nothing special to be seen here; the cityscape was as drab above as below, but a tiny semblance of a glint near the edge of a rail kept her up here for a moment longer.

Makoto approached cautiously. She could not think of a reason to measure each step with such detainment. Street bombs usually gave off a foul odour and were packaged into brick-like wrappings that stood out under the light, hence why they were concealed in shadows. Indeed, it was not her sense of self-preservation what clung to each step, but inertia borne from anticipation. She only knew what it was until she was only a metre away, and even then, she took her time.

Finally, she had the item in her hands, some ordinary, discarded thing: a large glasses' frame. One lens remained in place, shattered but kept whole by some wondrous force.

Wondrous. The very sound and spelling of the word made the awful savour in her mouth suddenly taste different, like a strong spice that made its way up her nostrils. She could stay up here and debate with herself whether it was work of imagination, supposed insanity or a real thing, but the hours ahead suddenly appeared so short to her, now that she had a purpose.

This broken memento was important, and worth being protected. She could but feel a whisper of its significance, but it was there – talking to her without words. She was on the right path.

With renewed enthusiasm, Makoto looked up, hoping to find her incorporeal companions, but no matter how many times she counted in her bafflement, she counted one shadow short – and it was the first one that appeared in front of her eyes. It was him – he was gone.

As her breathing quickened anxiously, the hand that kept the glasses tightened, deforming the frame and destroying the unity that kept the shards on the lens together; those shards, several were now piercing the skin on her calloused hands. She did not feel any pain, not of a physical kind, anyway. Therefore, it took her a moment to realise what she did, and she did not care that her hand was hurt. In her mind, she had not harmed herself with the object, she harmed the object and its significance.

Something inside of her head exploded and next thing she knew, she ran without destination or respite. Fists closed tight throughout, still keeping the bent frame and the broken lens. At no point did she meet a dead end, even as she reached the dreary maze of the lower reaches, littered everywhere with obstructed passages and destroyed paths. Without a sense of direction to heed, Makoto ran tireless to the point of her senses blurring. The other shadows mingled with whatever light they found in the way, the lights and the varieties of grey turned even more opaque. Her ears and skin ignored the rain that broke free.

She was all soaked when she finally met a dead end. Some room in the middle of the urban nowhere. No light to reach for that from the passage Makoto ran into. What little she could perceive about this room looked oppressive: broken furniture, soiled clothes, emptied wrappings, and food left to spoil. But stark in the middle of the room, atop a flattened table, there was another item, as worn and torn as the glasses. It was for her, and she knew it immediately.

Sae had a stuffed animal of her own when she was a child. Makoto would have gotten to keep it eventually, but the world got in the way. It was no great loss, a stuffed animal, a shape to be held and embraced during lonely times, during dark and scary times. Makoto did not get to have any of that as she grew older, no matter how badly she needed it.

This thing had a head and a body. Only that could be soberly said about this bear-like object. It gave off a damp odour that screamed of age, but nothing too repulsive. It was filthy, sickly pale, with dirt so enrooted on its 'fur' that it dyed black spots on the eyes, ears and body. Some places sagged, and others retained its pleasant consistence – a poor, poor thing, and it was for Makoto to have.

Her breathing slowed down the longer she stared at the bear. The shadows and the lights all returned to their intended place. She carefully lay both the frame and shards on the bear's stomach, and folded its sagging limbs against its centre as it were embracing these remains. Makoto walked out of that room with an easier pace, confounded despite all the shadows having disappeared.

But this time she did not feel panic as before.

It no longer mattered if she was insane or not. There was no longer a single doubt in her mind: something was calling out to her, a presence at the other end of the city that was waiting for her. At this point, the strain from her wild run caught up with her, and every step she took sent waves of pain and exhaustion all along her body. Though she would surely get drenched under the rain, she made her way slowly across the labyrinth of streets.

It was not under lit passages or dark alleyways that she found her way. She followed the spaces in between, getting further and further away from the ruins she knew. By the time the rain stopped falling, her surroundings were entirely unfamiliar. These parts were as despoiled and broken as the lower reaches, but it had a kind of openness to it, as pleasant as suspicious. From her years fighting for food and books, she knew how to read the streets, and it took little imagination to picture dozens of adversaries emerging from nearly any conceivable nook and cranny.

The place was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Holding the broken bear just a little tighter against her, she walked on, prepared to fight – for her life, if needed. She did not turn at the slightest variation in the quiet, but every minimal sound sent another pugnacious kick into her blood. By the time she reached a latticed staircase leading up to a deserted train car, she was convinced that she would have to fight before the end of the day.

Makoto Niijima, age 22, lived a life gone wrong too early. She was forced to accept the lot she was dealt. Madness freed her for a cost: the glaring knowledge that any day, any moment could be her last. But if only for one afternoon, when the rain stopped, she felt like she could allow herself to ignore it.

She was not alone in this dilapidated train car. A tall, lean individual with thick, black hair leaned against the rail by the window, looking outside, with a black kitten on his shoulder. The sun glimmered on his left eye in a peculiar way when he slowly turned to look at Makoto.

Silence. Makoto blinked, unsure of what to say. His lower lip quivered for an instant. It was hard to tell otherwise, but the girl knew he was as surprised as she.

A gulp. Makoto took one step in his direction, one step that demanded a tremendous effort. She tried to speak, but she felt like she was choking.

"A….A…"

He took the little cat from his shoulder and laid him on a seat nearby as he approached.

"A…Ak…" Makoto could not tell what she was trying to say, no matter how much her brain insisted that she should explain why she had come here. After all, any soul populating the urban waste land was probably a little insane also.

The young man mouthed something, but no words came out.

"I came here!" Makoto pried the words out of her throat, against the one word emerging from her heart. "I came here, because I feel, no, because I know am supposed to be here." She sounded more hostile than she meant. "You. Why are you here?"

His right eye dilated.

"I,,," The young man looked down, and back at her, and down once again. He tried to communicate with hand gestures, but they failed him. Truly, he looked like hesitation personified.

"Speak freely." She smoothed her voice as much as she could, unaware that she sounded almost tender.

"I came here for the same reason." He spoke with a strong Okinawan tone. He took one step in her direction, fearing she may step back. She did not, which made him more confident to talk. "I feel like I know you."

Makoto's lips opened.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"My name is Makoto Niijima. A-are you…?"

"I am Akira Kurusu."

She mouthed the name as he said it.

"I feel like I've said your name before." He said.

Makoto instinctively drew up the bear to her chest. Akira meant to pull something out of a pocket on his coat, but dropped it. As he bent down to pick it up – an old, snapped hairband fashioned like a thin brain – she looked at his hand, as calloused and wounded as hers, though his was missing two fingers.

"This is yours, isn't it?" He offered the hairband to her.

She only stared at it, her mind blank for a moment. Before even thinking of taking the hairband, she unwrapped the package improvised with the bear's limbs to return his glasses, though worse for wear than how she found them. She thought of presenting this as a gift, in the same way as he gave the hairband, which felt like a lost extension of herself. But when it came to doing, her thoughts blurred beneath the action, of dropping the bear, rushing forward and embracing him, not knowing or caring why. To her infinite relief, he did the same, enveloping her body with his arms, keeping her close and not wanting to let go.

Her face was buried against his chest. For the first time in such a long time, the tears pour like rivers.

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad." She tearfully mumbled in between the sobs that strained her voice.

Akira too felt the tears welling up in his right eye. His had forever been the path of a pariah. Happiness was a right denied to one like he. Things were already difficult before one day in spring when the first shadow showed up in his sight, one he was now sure belonged to her.

Reluctantly, they separated from the embrace. At this point, they each could try and share their story with the other, but neither wanted to. Behind them was only misfortune and pain, a share to last them for a lifetime. Makoto did not know why this Akira was so special to her, and she did not know what to make of this warm feeling that spread all across her body, annulling all of her pain and exhaustion. It was nothing like she experienced before, but it did not feel foreign to her, not in the slightest.

Before leaving, Akira laid the kitten in his pocket, sitting its small furry behind on a wrapped potato snack that would be their supper later. Makoto, in turn, put her hairband on her head. It felt loose, but it felt right. He felt right, the cat - a strange but not unwanted presence - felt right. This world did not. Whatever dark future awaited it, none could tell, but maybe these uncanny souls could bring some light into it.

That night, Makoto dreamt about her family being back together. Her sister, her father and her mother. And Akira was there as well. Come the morrow, she told him about her intent for this world, her drive to change it and mend the severed bonds. He made it very clear when she finished: this path, however daunting, she would not walk alone.

As to whether they could succeed, to bring the Niijimas back together, to lash back and reform this rotten waste land, that is a story with an unseen outcome.


	5. Chapter 5

Day Five: Enemy Mine

At this point, there was much to fear. It was true that the Phantom Thieves had recently risen back into vigour following a grave stumble after the passing of Haru's father. But as soon as they came out from one shadow, another had quickly loomed over their heads, more terrible and dreadful than the one before. Stakes notwithstanding, any angle regarding Sae Niijima would prove a formidable challenge – one only need to look at her younger sister, Makoto, to know the strength carried by the Niijima name.

It was do or die for the Phantom Thieves: succeed in changing Sae's heart or be inevitably apprehended by the forces she wielded, no different a scenario than a hand closing in on a fly. This was the reality posed by the newest addition to the team – none other than the second coming of the Detective Prince, Goro Akechi. And he happened to represent a more literal take on the adage. Cautiously looking into the suspicion aroused by a minor mistake on his part paid off, as a plot to betray the Phantom Thieves and assassinate their leader was unveiled, much to their horror.

Horror. Despite their new resolve, Akira could still read the horror concealed beneath his friends' faces, especially when they thought he was not looking. Ryuji was a little quieter, Ann was hesitant to treat herself to sweets, Morgana slept less, Yusuke would set his pencil down too soon, Futaba was a little less willing to game, and Haru let her coffee go cold. The one exception was Makoto, whom try as she might, could not conceal it; for that matter, she did not even bother to during their time alone.

Of all within this roguish fold, she was perhaps the most emotional, even more so than Ryuji. That was why she made the most effort to keep herself cool-headed. Akira could not even begin to imagine how this situation must feel to her. Her sister, her boyfriend, and all of their futures hung in the balance. She would not allude to it any more than necessary, but she had the right of it. They stood to win or lose everything.

Yet despite this deadly pressure bound against them, Akira's reason to frown beneath his mask was seeing Goro, in his Crow persona, slowly gravitating more and more around Makoto during their venture in Mementos for training. It was imperative to keep their skills honed when the time came to confront Sae's Shadow, and when their plan to elude disaster were to spring. But did Goro really need to show off so much?

It was funny, Akira thought. Even knowing Akechi would betray them and essentially murder him, he still thought of the detective as a friend. There was kinship between them borne from instinct. Despite his posturing and his charisma, he was a lonely child, just like Akira had been once himself. Their wistful evening exchanges at LeBlanc felt sincere, but this – the way he talked to Makoto, the way he glanced in her direction more times than Akira felt comfortable with – was something new.

There was little ground to think him past duplicity. He was perfectly willing to kill Akira despite their previous conversations, after all. Maybe that had been a falsehood, and this – daring, bold Crow – was his true persona. Maybe it was all true, or all false. Regardless, the one thing Joker wondered right now was whether Akechi was challenging him through subtle psychological warfare, or whether he actually was interested in Makoto.

Then again, it may all be in his mind.

Or was he? Did Crow deliberately chose the spot right next to Queen in the next safe room they encountered? No way to find out without giving his own mistrust away. There was another problem. Maybe their friends suspected there was something about Joker and Queen, but there was a definite reason they kept their relationship under wraps: to avoid trouble in the outside world, and to prevent one another from becoming a weak point. If Goro were to know about their relationship, Makoto could be compromised herself.

Thus, Akira was forced to show no special consideration to his lieutenant, keep his eyes from lingering, and stomach the entire scene. Yet in doing so, he failed to notice how Makoto looked at him. She understood his reasons, and she may have done the same if the roles were inversed. But in her eyes was the desperate desire for this day to end, and for their disguised foe to back away.

But neither Joker nor Queen had their way, as the exploration proved longer and more tedious than most days. Were the Shadows somehow conspiring with Akechi to test their limits? Most waves consisted of weak forms easily put away with a slash of Fox's sword, or a half-hearted swing of Skull's pipe. These were all multitudes of minor hindrances in the way of their circulation. And by Oracle's readings of the area, they were forced to toil in the very middle of the area. Whether they chose to go deeper or call it a day, they would still need to slice through all these Shadows.

The day somehow worsened, as tedium gave way to menace.

Being ambushed by Shadows was a disastrous sign by itself. They ordinarily lacked the acute coordination and the strength to force them out of the Morgana-mobile and fight. If they did, the Phantom Thieves could expect a long encounter, unless they were able to flee. Akira and Makoto's friend, Hifumi Togo, had imparted the group the tactical know-how to disengage from an encounter through educating the former on the art of Shogi. Disappearing from the battlefield was an easy matter in itself.

But they could not do it, not this time. The objective was clear: have Goro Akechi partake of their activities as Phantom Thieves to keep appearances. To escape from an opportunity to actually face a worthwhile adversary would be a red flag that the young detective would surely pick up on.

No choice but to face them, and see Crow's attempt to woo Queen in the middle of the battle.

These shadows were new forms, large and dangerous in appearance. Though the full extent of their properties were unknown, Oracle accurately surmised through Prometheus that they were impervious to most kinds of magic. Sheer power proved effective to start wearing them down, but a more decisive offensive was necessary.

"Robin Hood!" Crow called his Persona before Joker could summon one he thought fitting for the job. The flashy, super-hero like Persona appeared from the ether, casting rays of white light against a foe.

Joker cursed inward at seeing the effect Akechi's attack had on the enemy: extraordinarily effective, but that was only one foe struck down, there were two more to go, just as formidable.

"That one!" Futaba hovered towards another. "Can be nuked!"

"Then that means…" Crow chimed in. "Queen, go for it!" He walked in her direction, seeking her hand. Nobody had told him about the thing they did: the baton pass, their way to keep combat organised and effective, and to keep their spirits up in the heat of combat. But he was a detective, and he surely picked up on it from the first time he fought alongside the Phantom Thieves. It was not a problem when he joined in the baton pass back in the first visit to Sae's Palace. That was then, when he showed no special attention to anyone. Now, the very sound of the contact between Queen and Crow's palms reverberated in Joker's heart like lash against his skin.

Queen spearheaded the offence against the second Shadow, blasting it gone with a nuclear blast, courtesy of Anat. Only one more to go, the one that repelled most of the others' efforts. It was only by mere conjecture that Joker decided on how to approach this final enemy. But it was by pure emotion that he decided to take it on himself.

"Arsene!" The original masque came into existence from inside his soul, imposing as the first time he summoned it. But it was not the same Persona as back then – it was stronger now. Its power, next to its devilish air made its attack look ruthless, almost savage. One uncharacteristically violent burst of black magic and the coast was clear.

Nobody said much on the matter, but all the Phantom Thieves could tell there was something different about Joker's attack that time. Each gauged it in a different way. Mona looked at it in a more analytical way, knowing it had been a long time since Joker last summoned Arsene. Noir's response was more visceral, feeling spooked from Arsene's unforgiving show. Fox dwelt on the spatter the Shadow left after being dismembered by Joker's Persona. Oracle merely mouthed a 'yikes' in the privacy of her own Persona.

But Skull and Panther, the founders of the group alongside Joker and Mona had a more grounded understanding on what occurred. Both thought Joker and Queen had a special chemistry in and out of battle: sometimes they would observe more than any of them knew. They could tell now that Arsene's burst was the best attempt Joker had of telling Crow 'to back away from his girl'.

"Great job there, Makoto!" Crow approached with a smile to congratulate Queen. A smile too perfectly innocent for too perfect a slip-up. Skull and Panther both turned to look at Joker's reaction.

Was this an accident? Was this deliberate? Joker could hardly bring himself to believe the famous boy detective, the killer in the Black Mask, would make a slip-up like this, unless he had a specific reason to… unless something, or somebody, caused him to make a mistake despite himself.

No, Joker convinced himself, he was overthinking. If anything, Crow was disguising his savvy under a mask of amateurship. That must be it.

"Crow. I do insist you use our codenames, even here." Queen said. "And thank you. Good job everyone." Her eyes turned to the Leader. "Let's go, Joker."

"Let's." Joker nodded, trying to downplay the anger he felt from hearing Makoto's name come out of Goro's mouth.

All back aboard Mona, the team decided to call it a day and made for the exit. Despite everybody's attempt at presenting themselves naturally, a few glances were thrown at Akira every now and then, who was now at the wheel. Though she would not think of saying it out loud in Crow's presence, Oracle feared Joker may reveal the reckless driver she felt everyone had within.

The ride went peaceful since, with pleasant banter between all, as if nothing happened – until the exit was in sight. But it was not so much what they saw as it was what they heard. The rattling of chains against the tracks. Everybody felt a chill inside. Nobody in the van cared to mask their dread as the Reaper approached behind them. Akechi looked somewhat confused, apparently ignorant of what that sound meant. Akira had no time to wonder if Akechi was that mindful of a liar to stay in character, he had to make a decision now. The exit was still too far away. He could push Morgana to reach the exit, and thus leave themselves vulnerable for an attack on their hind, or engage the Reaper and make a getaway on their own terms.

The last time they encountered the Reaper, they barely escaped with their lives. The addition of one more member with strong magical capabilities did not seem like it would make much of a difference considering how one-sided the affair was last time.

"Better the devil we know." Joker said, as he U-turned Mona to face the Reaper.

"Joker!?" Queen called.

"Dude, we're not fighting that asshole, are we?"

"W-what's happening?" Crow swung his head from one direction to another, clinging to his seat.

"Listen up, everyone. We're all walking away from this. But we need to keep the Reaper from ambushing us. Mona. You will keep your distance from the battlefield, not too far away."

"Got it." He replied.

"Noir. You will stay in the catmobile-"

"I'm not a cat!" Mona's engine shouted.

"And drive away slowly. The rest will hop on, one by one, while Skull, Queen and I will keep the Reaper distracted."

"Roger." Queen said neutrally.

"Got ya." Skull responded.

"Why are we doing this?" Crow asked.

"The Reaper is an OP Shadow. We barely made it out the last time it found us. Real strong, but kinda dumb. He won't attack what's not right in front of him. If he sees us all making a run for it, he will head right in for our booty." Oracle explained.

"He does go for that ass!" Skull sounded amused.

"Yeah, he does – kinda like somebody we know." Panther made sure not to look in Joker's direction.

"Okay, enough banter!" Queen declared. "Everyone, stick to the plan and be careful. If we lag behind, don't try and get us. We'll get there."

"All good?" Joker called.

"All good!" Everyone enthusiastically said in unison, even Crow, who added an awkward delay.

The plan unfolded swimmingly, for the most part. Crow was the last to board Mona before Skull, Queen and Joker began their retreat simultaneously. However, between the last time they met the Reaper and this one, the fiend seemed to have gotten smarter. The triangular evasive tactics seemed less effective, making every attack from the Reaper a little closer to hitting its target. Suddenly, the Shadow turned sharply, finding Joker at the very precise end of its revolver. One pull of the trigger, and the Phantom Thieves' Leader would be done for. Queen and Skull were both too disadvantageously far to do a thing, much to their terror.

That is when Crow – just gotten out of the van - pushed Joker out of the way with a sloppy-looking pounce, making the bullet make a cloud of dust from the tracks. This was the perfect opportunity to get away. Skull was the first to reach Mona's back door. Queen was next, with Joker's hand in hers, pulling along as she ran. Joker himself was pulling Crow to safety until all were in the vehicle with the exit only a few metres ahead.

They were safe. After such a close shave, nobody thought it unreasonable to call it a day. The objective of integrating Akechi into their core to maintain his trust was accomplished with almost not a stumble. Back in the outside world, the Thieves regrouped at LeBlanc for the routine meeting, after which they all took their leave. Makoto was the first.

What remained of the afternoon was a dull affair at the café. Hardly a customer in today, so Boss had no qualms about letting Akira hang in his room, though he did notice how troubled he looked as he climbed the stairs. Sojiro Sakura made a mental note of getting him to talk later: maybe Akira played it cool enough for the others not to notice, but he had an eye for a particular few things. It was no coincidence that 'Mako-chan' was the first to leave, and with such a casual, disengaged manner. The girl was about as crazy about the kid, as he was about her. Did something happen there?

Then again, he thought as the bell at the entrance door rang, it is also no coincidence that Mako-chan is back five minutes later.

"Good afternoon, Boss." She looked somewhat timid. "Is…"

"He's upstairs." He nodded towards Akira's room. "You want your usual blend?"

"Yes, please." She responded politely.

"Off you go, then."

She found him sitting on his bed, head turned to the window, and eyes – she guessed – looking nowhere in particular. Makoto did not know what to say, or how to approach him. She could tell something was wrong. She was sure – in fact – everyone could; but not everyone had the same access to him as she did.

"What was that?" Makoto decided to be open and direct.

"Makoto." By the way he said her name, he truly was not aware of her presence until she spoke.

"Down there in Mementos. What happened?"

"We showed Akechi-kun around in the underworld."

She raised an eyebrow.

"We took out a few dozen Shadows. No big deal. We got a bit of a workout, and then had a huge scare… And I got jealous."

She arched both eyebrows.

"Jealous? What?" She squinted in thought. "Is it because Akechi wouldn't leave me alone?"

"If I said yes, would you laugh at me?" Akira tried to make some light out of something very real that bothered him.

"Yeah, I would. But I'm not much in a laughing mood, to be honest." She approached and sat on his bed. "Was that Arsene attack because you felt jealous?"

"Uh-huh. I needed to make a bit of a tantrum." Akira looked down, slightly ashamed of himself.

"But, why would you be jealous?" A hint of laughter died on the very instant she thought of a reason. "Akira… are you doubting me?"

The way she said it was like a dagger twisting in between his ribs.

"I know I'm not quite there yet when it comes to being a girlfriend. I'm trying my best, Akira. But please believe me, I have no eyes for anyone but you…"

"No! Makoto! No! I'm just being childish!" Akira went towards her with his knees on the mattress. "There's so much I don't trust about this world. You are one of the things I am completely certain about. You said it yourself. You want us to be equals, and I want that too. It's just…"

"What?" Makoto looked sad.

"I really don't like him getting close to you. For all his posturing, I really don't trust that he won't want to do something to you."

"I guess…" She took her time to talk. "You know how I'm feeling now."

He did not need her to say anything more to understand. Things might have looked different from his perspective for the last months, but from where she stood, Akira had been talking with his executioner, laughing with him, having coffee with him, and despite what everyone knows now, harbouring hope for his redemption. She could tell there was more than common sense and human decency in the way Akira hurried Goro to safety. He still saw him as a friend, regardless of his hidden intention.

"You do care about him, don't you? Even if he's so willing to take you from me, for good?"

Akira stayed silent for a moment. The familiar sound of the French press below grounded him to the moment.

"I'm sorry, Makoto. I wasn't seeing it that way."

She bit her lip, as if that could keep all her words bound inside of her.

"I wish we could get him off the path he's on. That's true, because I feel like we could have been friends had things been different. But I won't hesitate to stop him if he threatens my friends, if he threatens you. I'll need to extend that to myself as well."

"… I really needed to hear that coming from you..." She nuzzled her head under on the warm place at the root of his neck. "That you cared about him more than you do about yourself was making me feel jealous." She said, with a lighter tone.

"That doesn't make sense, Miss President." Akira arched an eyebrow as he tried dissecting the logic to her words.

"Then, let's make sense." She looked up at him, too afraid of blinking, as if each instant could keep him with her in this moment forever. Her voice had shrunken to a gentle whisper, a sweet sound that moved Akira to an extent she could not know. His hand cupped the right side of her face, his thumb delicately placed below her lower lip.

The taste of toothpaste and cinnamon was a faint trace, almost a figment against the slightly stale flavour in her mouth; this was a spontaneous taste, and one he could see himself loving in every kiss forever. Her tongue completed every thought she found no words for through pure motion and contact. Through the proximity of her nostrils, he felt her breathing rising in tempo and urgency; his own matched soon after, growing louder and louder as their hands explored each other with a degree of young modesty.

"Coffee's ready, lovebirds." Morgana interrupted with indifference, then lazily going back down the stairs. He neither caught Akira's blush, nor the Makoto burying her face on his chest afterwards. Akira never felt so stupid as he did today, and being surprised by a talking cat while making out with his girlfriend had nothing to do with it. His own vanity existed beyond the way he carried himself in the Metaverse, and it was something he knew now he had to overcome, to dominate.

He felt blessed have his friends at his side to pursue their common, ever more ambitious and perilous goal, and to aid him all the way. And he felt unbelievably more so when it came to Makoto, being so understanding when he was this kind of stupid. There was no room for that between them, but only for a different kind of stupid – the one that filled him whole with music and fireworks, and besotted them at the very briefest hint of each other's presence – the best kind of stupid.


	6. Chapter 6

Day Six: Swansong for a Night

"Baby, I could rule the world, with a girl like you in my arms." The razor grazed the first buds of facial hair off young skin easy. Akira Kurusu mostly took after his mother, through the gentle sharpness of his factions, and the thick, wild, black hair. Approaching his twenties, he started to see some of his father on the bottom half of his face. Only time would tell if he would eventually grow as mighty a beard as the sailor. In the meantime, he could start getting used to the quotidian task of shaving.

"Baby, I could rule the world, with a girl like you in my arms." Just another box to tick on the daily list. A task so mundane it could turn mindless, and it did after a week. He did not usually get to it with much enthusiasm. Today was different, however. For the mundane had turned extraordinary in the expectation of tonight.

"Baby, I could rule the world, with a girl like you in my arms." Akira thought of a song he heard only a few days ago. One verse repeated constantly, though the song never got dull.

"Hey, knock it off in there, Sukiyaki." Boss' gruff voice and the knock on the restroom door startled the young man.

The next second he looked at himself in the mirror, a thin red line travelled along his face, just below the cheekbone, all the way to his jaw. One to tick off the list, the young man thought to himself. He carefully applied a tiny square of toilet paper to his face after cleaning off what remained of the foam. He hoped the cut would heal by that evening, unlikely as it was, or that at least the soft lighting in Arancia would hide it.

"A bit brusque, don't you think, Boss?" Akira said to Sojiro with a slight hint of anger.

"You know the rules, kid. Restroom must be free when the first customer comes." Boss said nonchalantly while preparing a blend for the aforementioned first customer.

"I guess I forgot."

"Keep that in mind." Boss lifted his eyes off the press and instantly caught sight of the little square turned red. "Did you cut yourself shaving?" He chuckled.

"Yes. That sort of thing tends to happen when one knocks on the door like that."

"Well, you'd be fine if you concentrated more on the shaving and less on the singing."

Akira blinked.

"Was I singing?"

"Oh, yeah. A bit later, and you'd have given a show for everyone."

"It wasn't half bad." The customer said. He was not a regular yet, but seemed comfortable enough to contribute to the conversation.

Akira reddened a little.

"Well what do you know, kid? It's a win-win. You sing good and you dress your wounds good-ish." Sojiro turned to the customer as he served his cup. "He's taking his girlfriend out tonight, you see."

"Boss…" The young man started to protest. It was rare for him to get bashful like this.

"Am I lying, kid?"

"Nope. It is karaoke night." He acknowledged with a grin creeping into the left corner of his mouth.

Akira worked only half of his usual shift that day. Yuuki would cover him for the later half, as they agreed two days before. Strictly speaking, the young man could well work his whole shift and still make the date without a hitch – that was the way Makoto and he handled their nights out. But this time he felt he may as well make himself available for some preparatory support, if needed.

Makoto could not bring herself to say no, probably more out of consideration for Ann and Ryuji's excitement than actual willingness. She read it in their faces when they asked, and to turn them down would drown the young woman in guilt for days to come. Thus, she said yes, all the while she mentally scolded Futaba for sharing that video in the chat group. The officer in training did not know what flustered her the most: that the girl had recorded her without her knowing, or that nobody would shut up about how well she sounded.

At least her boyfriend was lighter on that regard.

Singing was not a hobby nor a passion for Makoto Niijima; it was a habit she developed to keep her concentration and her cool during increasingly harder tasks. She never did it at a high volume, just enough to feel the reverberation of the sound on her vocal cords. Futaba had excused herself to go to the restroom on one day when 'Mum-koto' helped her prepare for her college entrance exams. These breaks allowed the young woman to sort through a few materials of her own. With nobody else around, she felt at liberty to sing the first lines to "Kasanaru Kage" at a far lower tempo than the actual song, essentially making a lullaby out of the ballad.

Makoto never noticed that Futaba was taking a bit longer than expected. In truth, Futaba had come out of the restroom several minutes ago.

Akira said little on the matter; he knew how sensitive Makoto was about a few things, especially when it came to acknowledging her own graces beyond her diligence and commitment. Still, he played that video over and over that night in his room, with a wide, boyish smile on his face. The volume left much to be desired, and the video quality could be better. Futaba had to compromise on a few things to maintain the furtiveness of her intent to catch Makoto off guard.

Still, Makoto's voice sounded lovely. She really did sing well. He might get to hear her sing later, if she gave in to Ann and Ryuji's playful pressure. And if she stood her ground, Akira would at least still get to serenade his girlfriend. All at once, the coming prospect of Karaoke night felt like a flashback to the earlier days of their relationship. It was a wonder that, of all the incredibly cheesy though charming things Akira said, actually singing to his girlfriend went neglected.

Akira hummed the day along until he got the text message from Makoto. She was outside.

"Hi." Makoto smiled awkwardly from the seat of her motorbike.

"Hi." Akira greeted her with a kiss. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay." She said, visibly not feeling okay. "So… let's go. Ann and Ryuji are probably waiting for us."

"That they probably are." Akira paused for a moment. "Ah, Arancia is in Shibuya. We could get there pretty direct on the subway if you're not feeling good to ride."

"No, it's fine." Makoto managed a slightly more trusting smile. "I need the air anyway."

"Alright, my Queen." He sat behind Makoto, putting on second the helmet she always carried on her bike. He surrounded her waist firmly with his arms. "Let's go."

[ ]

The sun had barely set by the time Makoto and Akira arrived at Arancia. The soda joint had done quite well in the last few months, and as way of celebrating a productive year, the elusive manager installed a small karaoke area upstairs. While they could not dream of ever competing with the actual karaoke joint further down the street, they could afford to spoil their patrons a little and gently persuade them into spending a little more on the soft drinks.

Ryuji and Ann were both already seated on the plush red love seats circling a table made out of orange polished marble. There was also singing already – unbelievably dreadful singing, courtesy of Yasunori Kujo, waiter extraordinaire and friend of Akira from his Juvie days. Makoto cringed at the very moment she was within earshot, while Akira could not help but shake his head at his friend's notably horrendous display. However, as Ryuji and Ann's peculiarly enraptured expressions indicated, there was something oddly engaging about how badly Yasunori butchered "JUDGEMENT". He was aware of his bad singing, but at the same time, did not mind it much.

At the end of the song, Akira, Ryuji and Ann would not have protested if their waiter picked another song to 'perform'. Makoto also would have no problem with it, but for an entirely different reason. Unfortunately for the police-officer-in-training, Yasunori got back to his duties as soon as the song came to a merciful end.

"Strider! Makoto-san! Good to see you! How did you like the song?"

"It was quite terrible, Yasunori. It's good to see you too." Akira greeted his friend.

"It really wasn't so bad, Yasunori-kun." Makoto said. "Maybe you'd like to sing a little more?"

"I am in the mood for it." The waiter nodded enthusiastically. "But I do have to bring you your drinks. Plus, Ann here tells me you're quite a good singer. Wouldn't dream of daring to take the spotlight."

"I see." Makoto managed to say beneath her anxious irritation.

"Alright, then. So, the usual?" Yasunori shifted to his role as a waiter.

"Yeah, that's fine." Makoto sounded a little dejected.

"Same here." Akira put a supportive arm around his girlfriend.

"Is something wrong, Makoto?" Ann asked her friend.

"I'm just a little nervous, is all." She downplayed how badly her nerves twisted all about her body as she took a seat.

"Why? You're gonna kill it, Queen!" Ryuji said, unaware of how little he helped her mood.

"Anyway!" Akira steered the conversation away from the singing. "It's been a while since we've gone on an actual double date, no?" The young man tried to delay the night's 'main event' as much as he could while still leaving enough time for everyone to enjoy themselves. This involved showing particular interest in minutiae and even casually bringing attention to the fact that he cut himself shaving that morning. This worked for a short time, during which Makoto did not appear able to relax as the rest. Akira hoped she would at least get to like him singing to her.

[ ]

As expected, both Ryuji and Ann were the first to jump at the chance of singing. Their choices were also suitably upbeat to set the mood. Ryuji was not a great singer, but he was far from unpleasant; in fact, his choices played well to his strengths, and even Makoto herself moved to the beat and melody, if only moderately. Ann's chosen songs were a tad more diverse, mostly soft and soothing. Akira picked somewhat old-fashioned songs that never did go out of style.

"Since Morgana isn't here, I'll be the one to say it." Ann laughed. "Sounding cool, Joker!"

"Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week." The young man played it cool, though he truly did like the praise.

"Yo, someone's been quiet. What's up, Queen? You're not having a good time?" Ryuji said.

"Oh! No, I really am enjoying myself." That was not necessarily a lie. "It's great hearing you all sing."

"I know what's going on." Ann smiled. "You have stage fright. Well, I know just the song to inspire you!" The model hopped off the love seat and frantically browsed through the machine's songs. Her face lit bright upon finding the song she wanted.

Ann sung "Dancing Queen" by ABBA, a song perfectly suited for her, being the one with the most proficiency in English. All throughout the song, she gestured at the group's Queen, encouraging to join them, and motioning at her boyfriend on a few lines.

Though Makoto was not yet as used to the language as Ann, she understood the lyrics well. And the effect Ann sought by picking this song worked like a charm. Blushing beyond control, Makoto felt everybody's eyes on her, even Yasunori and the rest of the customers', even if the latter were not even on the same floor. It was not peer pressure what got her to budge, rather the sheer theatricality of it all: the moment demanded that she follow next.

Dragging still some unease behind her, Makoto walked towards the karaoke machine and looked through the songs until she found one she knew well. She steadied herself as she would before any other challenging task, and steeled herself to give it her all.

Yet she missed her cue to begin the song. She sung the first line at mistime, as well as the second and so forth until she awkwardly reached the chorus, by which time she uttered uncomfortably more than actually singing. Her friends' expressions never soured once, but she still could not keep her cool anymore. Makoto excused herself as best she could, and hurried towards the restroom. She caught sight of Ryuji and Ann's faces, and how they turned concerned. As for Akira, she did not even want to look at him in the eye.

The sound of the door shutting prevailed in their ears over the hollow tune of the song still playing. Ryuji and Ann exchanged looks of worry, then turning to Akira.

"Did… we do something wrong?" Ann asked ashamed.

"No… that's not it." Akira let out a long sigh. "Let me just… I'll be right back."

[ ]

Makoto sat on the restroom's floor, face buried in her knees. Her first thought when she heard about the double date was not joyous anticipation, but anxiety over an outcome she dreaded, which ended up happening just as she feared. Now, she could not help but thinking of how much Akira, Ryuji and Ann were enjoying themselves, and how her botch had derailed it all. In her mind, she ruined everybody's night and made a fool of herself.

She should have pretended to be ill, she should have claimed to have a sore throat, she thought to herself. She should have kept a closer eye on Futaba and ensure she would keep what she heard a secret…

Then, a gentle knock on the door.

"Makoto?" Akira's voice. Of course he would be outside, worrying about her instead of having a good time with the others.

"Please leave me alone." Makoto responded, all spirit gone out of her.

"Makoto..."

"Don't."

"Please, tell me what's on your mind."

"Akira… Nevermind, I'll come out now."

"Take your time if you need it."

"No. Other customers may want to use the restroom."

"Forget about the other customers, Makoto. Take your time."

He could hear a sigh escaping Makoto's lips on the other side.

"I screwed up. Everything was going fine until…" Makoto cut in the middle of her own train of thought. "Why did Futaba have to show that to you guys!? Why must I be such a killjoy!?"

Akira went quiet for a moment. He sat on the floor right by the door.

"I think she just liked hearing you sing, and thought that we all would too. She was not wrong, you know. And you didn't ruin anything. You never do, Makoto."

"Please don't say things like that to make me feel better."

"I mean it, Makoto. Every moment you spend with us, with me, is better just because you're in it. I don't know what goes on in Futaba's head, but I'm pretty sure she did what she did because she admires you, and she likes when you shine."

Makoto looked up, picturing her boyfriend sitting right next to her through the door.

"You didn't pull off the song, but so what? That happens to everybody, especially the first time. It happened to me too, and still does sometimes. But then, this is not a competition. We're all here to have a good time together."

"But…"

"Ryuji and Ann got worried, is all, because they care about you. Who cares about botching a song? Honestly, when we're together anywhere, all I really want and hope is for you to have the time of your life. I think… we can still work that out, if you want."

"Akira." The way she said his name – he felt it on his skin, like one of those long kisses she placed on his cheek or his forehead. Innocent, loving, sincere.

Makoto wasted no more time to return to the others, holding tight to Akira's arm.

"Are you okay. Makoto?" Ann asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine now." She meant it. "The night is still young."

"True." Her boyfriend squeezed her hand gently. "Then, if there's no objection on the matter, I'm going to do something I wanted to do for a long time."

"What's that, bro?" Ryuji asked.

"I'm going to sing for my girlfriend." There was a visible spring in his step as he went towards the machine. "Now, a bit of a disclaimer. My English is still pretty rubbish, and I don't really get the lyrics. I'm not sure it's a love song, to be honest. But it's one of my favourites."

"Okay?" Makoto raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to expect.

"I dedicate this performance to the light of my days." Akira made an exaggerated flourish reminiscent of his days as a Phantom Thief.

The song in question was quite unfamiliar to all, but as the intro with guitar and piano gave way to lyrics, it sounded like one tailored for him to sing. "Strangers When We Meet" by David Bowie. Akira's voice, slightly deep and sweet, fit the author's sensual, sometimes melancholic tones so well that even his poor handling of the language could easily be overlooked. That much could be said as far as performance. But to Makoto, it was an entirely different experience.

Every movement on his body, from the mechanical to choicest, every flirty, picaresque glance he threw at her, and every sound that came out of his lips was like an arrow aimed directly at her heart. It was as if he was trying to make her fall in love with him all over again. And dear, she was. Half-way through the song, she brought her hand to her chest, while the other ended up just below her lower lip, softly nibbling at her index finger. Had she a little less control of herself at the moment, she would have needed to fan herself by the time the song ended at the five minute mark.

As the last bittersweet sounds faded out, Joker faced their friends, and bowed. He was happy about being here today with friends he loved. And he was even happier that Makoto was here, with him.

The young woman held her breath captive for a second before standing up with steely resolve. There was still some nervousness about her step, but the inside of her mind and heart were a different landscape than earlier. All she hoped for is that the song she wanted was available.

"Kasanaru Kage."

As if charmed by the magic of the fortuitous, she had the chance to dazzle her friends, and Akira, by returning to the favourite that brought this occasion into being. It started with the chorus accompanied by a lonesome guitar.

"Sharing a shadow, we look for strength from the bottom of our hearts. /  
I don't care, even if I fall or lose faith, /  
Because I'm not alone."

This time, she had to sing at the song's actual tempo, quicker than she was used to. It sounded just a little awkward, but every word fell where it should.

"The setting sun already starts to shine towards tomorrow. /  
Look at the shadow that connects our hearts and leads us there."

If once the song became a tender lullaby in Makoto's lips, it now exceeded the song's original spirit, as she began to sing with more confidence.

"When I see you looking down, it looks like you're crying. /  
Because you look so weak, straining your heart and holding it all in. /  
Throw all you have in your chest, and let's take a step forward. /  
Let's seek out a new you. /  
Don't worry, you don't have to hide anything: /  
I'll always be with you, and I'll never let go of your hand."

The chorus returned, this time with full intensity and momentum. Makoto needed not even look at the lyrics, for this all came out of her heart. And it showed. Beyond singing, she swayed vigorously to the beat of the song, the strands of her hair swaying back and forth, and the folds of her clothes bouncing up and down. Ryuji and Ann both moved along to the rhythm commanded by the Queen. But when it came to Akira, the look in her eyes – so full of life – had him nailed to his seat.

"Sharing a shadow, we look for strength from the bottom of our hearts. /  
I don't care, even if I fall or lose faith, /  
Because I'm not alone."

At the end, Akira was breathless. It was a joy to see his girlfriend having fun in a situation so unfamiliar to her, taking a little habit she viewed as almost therapeutic and enjoying it as something more, acknowledging as one of her graces. He almost lamented that nobody had recorded it, but that also made it more special, because it was a unique performance, one he was fortunate to have seen in the flesh, one that would live forever in him.

It was funny, he thought, that he told Makoto he hoped every time she would end up having the time of her life. Tonight, overcome when it came to serenading a significant other, it was he who was having the time of his life.

[ ]

Songs referenced above: "Baby" by Phenomenal Handclap Band  
( watch?v=aZfKMK3sw_g) "JUDGEMENT" from the Yakuza 0 soundtrack  
( watch?v=mLDo-jHcvAQ) "Dancing Queen" by Abba  
( watch?v=HtSYZRWBT6c) "Strangers When We Meet" by David Bowie  
( watch?v=M8YAzDDOCbY) "Kasanaru Kage" from the Gintama soundtrack  
( watch?v=rTtwc00q-oo) 


	7. Chapter 7

Day Seve: Our Stars

Sojiro "Boss" Sakura has always been a complex man. Those close to him could easily suspect so, but only a handful of people on Earth knew his story before he put his culinary expertise to use when he opened his own café in Tokyo. LeBlanc was eventually inherited by his best apprentice and surrogate son, one Akira Kurusu, after which Boss was free to retire to the relative solitude of a small residence near Kirifuri. That is where he decided to start a career as an author, and write for as long as he could. In a similar fashion as how he managed LeBlanc, his works did not reach too wide an audience. But those who did get ahold of them would instantly value them as obscure jewels.

Sometimes, under the cloak of twilight, he would walk out into a clearing in the woods and surround himself in a cloister of memory. This was no prison to him, but an immaterial sanctuary inside of which he recounted the events of his life. All the bad, and all the good. In this hour of division between day and night, he thought of those he cared for, both dead and living. Wakaba, Futaba, Akira, Makoto – and their children, Koharu and Ren: two brats he absolutely adored.

Despite the reclusive lifestyle he chose, it brought him great joy when the Niijima-Kurusu family came to visit. In this spot of seclusion, only the soul of the animals and the trees could hear him chuckling as he thought on the awkward first impressions about Akira and Makoto back then, and how they ended up married and starting a family. This love story was as strange as the two of them. It should be no wonder their offspring would also be an odd one.

The first chill of nightfall was the signal for him to go back inside. He thought he may as well get an early night and get the place ready for their visit the following day.

[ ]

"You two have been quiet." Makoto said, looking at the rear view mirror.

The twins, a girl and a boy, shared much in appearance. They both had a lot of Niijima about their factions, fine and fair with a hint of their father's sharp touches. Their brown hair was every bit as untameable as Akira's, but only Koharu had his eyes, whereas Ren's eyes were the same deep red as Makoto's. Minor differences aside, the two children took on the same expression, cross-armed and pouting at their mother.

"I think they really expected to ride on mum's bike." Akira laughed as he drove towards Boss' house.

"Really, guys? We've talked about this before. You're still too young, and the ride would be too long."

"You lied to us!" Koharu shook her arms in protest.

"I never said you would ride with me today. I said, when you come of age, and if you want to learn to ride a bike, we'll come here to practice."

"But Aunt Sae let us ride with her all the time!" Ren said.

"Ha. No, she doesn't." Mum shot them down.

"Aunt Haru?" Koharu tried.

"Nope." Akira said.

"Aunt Ann?" Ren attempted.

"She doesn't even know how to ride a bicycle." Makoto kept the game going.

"Aunt Futaba?" Both said at the same time.

"Video-games don't count." Akira followed the road into the forest, where the sights started becoming familiar.

"Aunt Eiko?" Koharu and Ren tried a curve ball.

"Plausible." Akira thought.

"Plausible indeed." His wife agreed. "I'll look into that, but if it's true, all three are so grounded."

"We take that back. Aunt Eiko has never let us ride a bike ever." Koharu said with haste.

"Wanna try uncles next?" Akira grinned.

For the next few minutes until they finally arrived at Grandfather Sojiro's (Or Papa Boss, as the twins took to calling him), the children continued throwing their many uncles and aunts' names only to having them bounce back every time. Sometimes, dad would throw a curve ball himself and catch them off-guard. They knew mum and dad would win the battle, but they would win the war in the end. For little did Akira and Makoto know, their children had something planned for the day, a scheme two weeks in the making: a heist. The objective: Mum and dad's secrets, hidden somewhere, surely in Papa Boss' study.

[ ]

"Look who it is." Sojiro smiled from the entrance of his house as his visitors approached.

"Boss." Akira greeted his surrogate father and mentor with a warm, firm handshake. "How have you been?"

"All well. Money comes in, people stay away, except for the ones I actually like."

"It's great to see you, Boss." Makoto bowed as was her custom.

"Oh, Commissioner Niijima. How many times have I told you there's no need to be formal with me?"

"About as many as I've asked you to call me Makoto." She abandoned all decorum and hugged him tightly.

"Grandpa!" Koharu and Ren hurried to hug their beloved grandfather, the latter almost stumbling on the steps.

"Come here, you two." Sojiro crouched to meet Akira and Makoto's children. "You're almost bigger than the last time I saw you, not much, thankfully. How old are you now, anyway?"

"Seven!" Koharu said with pride.

"Seven years-old." Boss feigned surprise. The last time he saw the two was at their birthday, just a month ago. There were few things about the occasion that escaped his memory, trifles all. One of the fondest moments was seeing Ren wear his trilby, and looking dapper well beyond his age; that was when the little boy announced he would earn the right to wear it. "Sounds to me you're old enough to taste the LeBlanc curry."

"Would that be a good idea, Boss?" Makoto looked a little cautious.

"I don't know. If they make a mess, the kid will clean it up." After all this time, the word kid was still one he used exclusively for Akira.

"Sounds fair." Makoto smiled with propriety as was her way.

"Do I get a say in this?" Akira said.

"Does your dad get a say in this?" Boss asked his children. Safe to say, they responded with a long and enthusiastic NO. "That's that then. You're outnumbered, kid, and we firmly believe in democracy under my roof. Now, come in all of you. Won't be long till it gets chilly out here."

Boss motioned them into his home, a little less than modest in features but cosy where it counted. The living room had a few couches most of the year, but he brought out the kotatsu whenever Futaba or Akira and his family came to visit. The walls were adorned with a variety of framed pictures, mostly landmarks in the history of LeBlanc and a few photographs he took himself of the Japanese wilderness and the coast. There was a moderately-priced flat-screen television fixed to the wall furthest from the windows. The rest of the furniture had a rustic feel to it; most of it he purchased from local carpenters. The whole of the setting lacked ostentation, but it conveyed its owner's style well.

The kitchen was a different story altogether. Even if Boss retired from his fringe spot in the food industry, the man stayed faithful to his culinary care and nuance. Much like the living room, the furnishings were of a handcrafted tone. But everywhere else, one could see the kind of appliances and instruments one does not pick casually: these were for knowing eyes and practiced pulses. Although this room represented a facet of his life he left behind, he was intent on preserving it in spirit. He went through considerably less regret and conflict as a café owner.

The third and last noteworthy room was his study. This was the humblest of places in Boss' home. All it truly contained were a couple of bookcases, a desk, a chair, and a small cupboard. Despite being the least catching of all places, this was the twins' objective, where their parents' deeply guarded secrets were mostly likely kept. In order to get there, Koharu and Ren would need to get through the living room and the kitchen as their grandfather's guests, and pretend to be nothing more.

Both children secretly felt a little guilty about it all, but the curiosity refused to let go once it took hold of them. It started a week ago, on the aftermath of a sleepover at cousin Ryoko's, when they first started noticing a series of strange coincidences about their parents.

[ ]

Ryoko's big blue eyes somehow got bigger when she digested Koharu and Ren's words. Up until that moment, the eight year old never considered that her parents, Ann and Ryuji, could be hiding a secret beyond the things she knew adults kept to themselves.

"Just think about it." Ren spoke in a cautious whisper. "It all makes sense. None of the other kids' parents are as close to each other.

"That doesn't have to mean anything. I mean, they met at school." Ryoko still sounded a little doubtful.

"Then how do you explain Uncle Yusuke?" Koharu retorted, sounding a little like her mother.

"He didn't go to the same school as our parents!" Ren pressed.

"And he's weird!" Koharu tagged herself in.

"Almost too weird!" Ren's tone put a definite dot at the end.

"B-but what could they be hiding?" Ryoko was not wholly convinced, but it was too late for her to turn back now.

"I dunno. Must be something big. Even Mona-kun is involved!" Ren brought a hand to his chin, as he has seen his mother do many times before.

"Mona-kun!?" Ryoko's disbelief struck at full force.

"He doesn't behave like other cats I have seen," Koharu said. "It's like he really can understand what we say."

"And dad does talk to him a lot. Like, a whole lot." Ren nodded.

"But isn't that kinda normal?" Ryoko suggested.

"Nuh-uh! We've done research!" Said research involved watching almost two hours-worth of cat videos. And true as they suspected, Morgana did behave differently: like a person in the body of a cat. In fact, this angle was what they felt most confident about, as Morgana fetched Akira as soon as he realised what the children were watching, almost as if he were trying to prevent them from making a breakthrough. Of course, neither of them considered dad came to snatch them away from the screen because it was not a very healthy thing to do for as long as they were.

"So, the cat is weird, and Uncle Yusuke is weird, so what?" Ryoko shook her head, large pigtails swaying back and forth. "What do you think our parents are hiding?"

"Something forbidden… like a blood oath!" Koharu opened her eyes wide to highlight the impact of her conjecture.

"What is a blood oath?"

"Something dark and mysterious. We… we don't know that much about it. Aunt Futaba lets us watch stuff mum and dad say we shouldn't, but she doesn't explain much either." Ren seemed unsure.

"And Aunt Futaba is also weird! Too weird not to be hiding something!" Koharu added. "We're going next weekend to Papa Boss' house. I'm sure he must know something."

"You guys are crazy." Ryoko dismissed. "But let me know if you find something."

[ ]

Though hopeful and driven, Koharu and Ren were not naïve. They knew their grandfather, however cool he was, would probably not tell them if their parents, aunts and uncles did make a blood oath. They did not ask their parents directly either, for the same reason. In fact, it was better if they never knew a thing about their investigation: mum led the police force and dad could solve any puzzle he got his hands on; they would have no chance if their intentions were known. This is why their mission relied on stealth and their knowledge of Papa Boss' home layout.

Luckily for them, grandpa's study was right across the bathroom at the end of the hallway, after turning a corner. There was only one light fixture at the end of the path, meaning they could disguise themselves in the shadows throughout the middle of the way. But such advantage could be easily wasted in unskilled, sloppy needed to play it cool and make sure that every bathroom break was well spent to make as much progress as possible between the two. Make every second count, and make sure their short absences went unnoticed. Rendezvous and discreet relay the gained information to the other.

This was the most complex endeavour they had to undertake so far in their lives. Tougher than school, tougher than Aikido. But the greatest challenge was not to silently raid Papa Boss' study - the true difficulty lay in remembering the plan in the midst of the good time they were having.

They afternoon did not start off at the living room, as the twins expected, where the conversation between adults translated into chances for them. Instead, all moved to the kitchen and prepared dinner together. Dad always said he would teach them how to make the curry and the coffee that put LeBlanc on the map – however obscure its place was, but he never got around to it. In truth, he did not feel Koharu and Ren were old enough to handle the stove. But here, as per Boss' suggestion, he found the perfect role for them.

Spice managing.

In terms of curry, Akira only served one kind for his children: a mild, safe variety he only made at request. Though the signature LeBlanc curry was not overwhelmingly hot, it was too strong for tender palates. If Akira was to gently introduce his children into the curry dimension as a fun family activity, he certainly would need Boss' help. And as always, Makoto's firm but very patient hands were there to guide when the twins took turns to stir the pot.

Koharu and Ren got involved to some degree in every step of the process, from the making to the gleeful eating later on. Time went by in a flash, and to their detriment, drowse swooped in unexpected. The two children slept peaceful on the couch while their grasp on their plan loosened, leaving only a nagging feeling beneath their dreaming, a twitch of urgency.

In the meantime, Akira and Makoto took the liberty to join Boss for a smoke.

The mental image of the early impressions about them came back for a moment. He had always seen some of himself in the kid; something roguish and bold, a touch of the quiet hope that his deeds led to somebody's welfare. But when it came to Makoto, the old man was taken aback. She was a proper lady, even back then, graceful but not meek in the slightest, a true queen in a world of arbitrary reverence. And now, here she was, a woman, graceful and strong, a full-fledged leader. He was proud of them for finding each other, for growing together, and making these two children.

He blamed the tear in his eye on the smoke that wandered from the tip of his cigarette.

[ ]

Koharu woke up suddenly. A remnant of purpose clung to her thoughts with stubborn insistence. There was something they were meant to do, a deed whose fruition eluded them with every hour passed. Realisation hit her unceremoniously, and she avalanched down the couch, along with the thick covers that kept her warm as she slept. The little girl looked around her and found only her brother, still sleeping. She instinctively cast a discreet glance at the window, and saw her parents and Papa Boss outside, completely oblivious to her.

"Hey! Wake up, Ren! It's now or never!" She spoke in hushed tones, trying to shake her brother awake, but his sleep was deep.

She realised it was all up to her alone.

Minding every step along the way, she quickly made for their grandfather's study. The door was thankfully unlocked, so she slipped in, barely making a sound. It was dark inside, and she had been in here very few times in the past, not enough to make a reliable mental layout of what was where. Koharu carefully groped at the walls, tiptoeing to reach as much as she could. Finally, she found the light switch.

Time was ticking. The girl wasted no time in looking at the spines on the books around her, or the small trinkets on the shelves. She went directly for the desk, where her gut told her she would most likely find something of interest. The two drawers on the right were locked tight, and there was nothing on top of the desk save for a laptop. She thought she may be able to find something in Papa Boss' computer, but that would take too much time.

Before letting out a disheartened sigh, her little foot grazed something under the desk: A small cardboard box. The top easily came loose. Koharu's pupils dilated to the sight of the items in the box. They looked unremarkable at first sight, but she felt they were special, and the very thing they were looking for – she felt it in her bones, the signs of the blood oath.

The first thing she found was a small black booklet, or at least, it looked like it had been black once; now, in her hands, it looked dark grey, very old and worn, like a book repeatedly read from cover to cover. The pages were yellowing, the handwriting on them was hard to read in some places, and easier on others. On the first pair of pages, she saw consecutive dates in April written down. There were a few, careless notes under each day, mostly illegible.

Koharu flipped through the notebook and saw how each day had a little more written down to it. She could not stop to read for more than a few morsels of a second each time, but she did notice her mother's name written down several times, increasingly more often as the days passed by. There were also the names of her aunts and uncles and a few others she did not recognise.

As if following a whim, she stopped on one random date.

"July 29

Hot day.

Still a bit tired from the last few days. Should take it easy for a bit. Some requests from work pending, should take care of them soon. Tried brewing a different blend today. Sakura-san says I'm not quite there yet. Will try again tomorrow.

Makoto called! Said she wanted to go see a movie today. It was a Yakuza flick. A good movie, not very different from the Hong Kong police thrillers I used to watch back in Kawasaki. Makoto was really into it. Hard to just focus on the movie. Her reactions are distracting, in a good way. She seemed worried that liking Yakuza flicks made her seem weird. She worries too much about that kind of stuff. I wish she could feel more comfortable with these things. She's had a lot on her plate lately. We all kind of have.

Still, it was fun. Felt pretty sad when we parted. I like her a lot."

Koharu decided against reading further. Time ticked away and there were still other items in the box. Under the booklet lay a few pictures. These were not framed like the others she saw in the living room. One of them showed a bespectacled woman with dark hair; she smiled while holding a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Was she grandpa's wife? Was she Mama Boss? Another picture showed her parents, and a few of her uncles and aunts when they were all younger. Koharu could not describe the feeling welling up in her chest from seeing this picture. There was someone else in the picture she did not recognise. A lost uncle, maybe?

To her growing suspicion, Morgana was also in the picture, and he looked no different than now. Sure, it could be another – exactly identical cat – but Koharu doubted that was the case.

And beneath those pictures, there was a strange postcard-like rectangle with a black and red bullseye design. In the centre, she saw some cartoonish drawing resembling a top hat, and three words in bold English.

TAKE YOUR HEART.

Koharu was about to take it when she heard her father's voice from afar.

"Koharu-chan?"

In the ensuing rush of adrenaline, the girl hastened to put everything back in the box and scurried out of the room. She managed to muffle her frenzy quick enough to pretend she had just come out of the bathroom. One last glance back confirmed she at least remembered to close the door to grandpa's study behind her.

"I was in the bathroom!" She said, putting unasked questions to rest. Whatever happened now, she at least had the certainty that the mission had not been a complete failure. In fact, she knew her brother and she were on the right track, and Ryoko would hear all about it.

"Did you remember to dry your hands?" Akira asked playfully.

"Uh-huh!"

"That's my girl." He smiled. "So, what do you say we crash here for the night? Your brother's not waking any time soon and it's tricky driving out of here when it's dark. Does that sound good!"

"Yes!" She was not lying. It really was a good time ahead. Perhaps, dad and grandpa would let them have some coffee for once.

Outside tarried a little before coming back in.

"Will you tell them someday?" The old man asked, getting a sigh out of Makoto.

"I think we'll have to eventually." She admitted.

"These kids of yours have a sharp mind, just like their mother and their father. I'd be surprised if they don't suspect something by now." Sojiro's eyes strayed briefly to his right, to the window in his study, seeing the light left on by the little intruder. He smiled to himself.

"That they do, alright." Makoto rubbed the cold off her hands before returning inside. "Let's go, Boss. I think Akira will be making some coffee."

"Sounds good. I think the kid got it right in the end." Those words reached far beyond his flavour profile, once upon a time so bland, but he needed not say anything further.

Life goes on.


End file.
